


Let The Word Stand On Its Own

by Sharkseye



Series: Majestically Exquisite [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:24:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 100,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6448036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharkseye/pseuds/Sharkseye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian Hawke never got the letter from Anso that would put Fenris in her path.  Instead, the elf almost dies fighting off his pursuers alone, and it is only due to a couple of well meaning Lowtown citizens that he lives, and is then thrust unceremoniously into the life of Anders, the Darktown healer.  Between secrets, hatred, and breakouts from the Gallows, the two learn to live with each other, and then maybe even something more.  </p><p>Response to a prompt from the kink-meme</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anders

**Author's Note:**

> This is cross-posted at the kink-meme here:  
> http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13010.html?thread=57469394#t57469394

 

It started off as a rather normal day at the clinic, and for all intents and purposes seemed like it would continue as such for the rest of it.  People in and out at all hours, all with different wounds, illnesses, and grievances they needed to see the healer about.  A pregnant mother there for a checkup leaving just as a Carta member with a stab wound arrived.  A sick family dropping in at the same time as a wounded miner.  A rare silent moment that Anders was taking advantage of to prep and clean, broken by the arrival of two elves hauling in a third, covered in blood and hanging limply from their hands.

 

“Put him down here” Anders gestured to the nearest clean cot, dropping the bandages he’d been working on with an internal sigh of exhaustion. 

 

The elves caring the bloodied body were all too eager to be relieved of their burden and Anders winced at the way his newest patient was unintentionally jostled as he was put down.  His violence bloodied patients were almost always better off in his clinic then where they'd been hurt, but the healer in him screamed about internal damage and punctured organs. 

 

“What happened?” He asked, already gathering his mana and pressing it down into the body to find the answer for himself.

 

Whatever other answer the elves might have given was lost in the rush that went through Anders as his magic touched something blinding and snapped back almost tenfold in strength.  Justice thundered to the front of his mind, and a quickly suppressed blue glow lit the clinic for a moment before Anders managed to force them back down.

_‘Not now. There are innocents present’_

****

**_‘He sings like home.’_** Was the spirit’s reply, a melancholy in their voice that only came out when speaking of the Fade.

 

Before Anders had a chance to further question his passenger, he became aware of a tentative hand on his arm.

 

“Should we have not brought him?” One of the elves questioned, his eyes wide with fear. “I don’t, we don’t know who he is, we just found him in the Alienage.  There were the bodies of slavers around him.”

 

Anders shook his head, relieved that they had not noticed or dismissed Justice’s slip as some healer magic.  The news that they didn’t know the man was less helpful, but he was glad that they had brought him in nonetheless.  Many people died alone on the streets when Anders knew he could’ve healed them, if only his magic wasn’t seen as a curse and he didn’t have to hide.  Not that he _entirely_ blamed those who saw and did nothing.  When one lived in Lowtown or Darktown it was often more beneficial to ones continued survival to ignore people who had obviously been in a fight.  Slavers especially. 

 

The tip of a pointed ear amidst the blood caught Anders eye and he clenched his teeth at the thought of what would’ve happened had the bloodied elf lost without dying.  Not that it really looked like he had truly won.  Generally the winner of a fight didn’t have half their internal organs hanging out.  It was truly a wonder as to how the elf was still alive.  Anders could appreciate a fighting spirit, even knowing from barely a glance that this healing would over-exhaust him. 

 

“No, it’ll be fine.  Thanks for bringing him in.” He murmured with a nod, barely noticing how quick the two were to leave.  Healing in a place like this bought loyalty at a steeper price than money could.

 

Now that Anders was taking the time to physically look, he could see what had disrupted his magic.  The lines of white-blue that covered his patient, singing like lyrium.  Not that such a thing was possible. To be branded with lyrium, to have it implanted into someone’s skin, it would be an execution.  

 

Still, lyrium or not, he needed to be more careful as he tried to heal the elf.  His magic had snapped away because he hadn’t been prepared.  So instead of letting it formlessly rush in before he figured out where it was needed most, Anders split it into thin tendrils that he fed into the body, careful to avoid touching any of the lyrium-not-lyrium.  

 

A soft moan drew his attention to his patient’s face where a hazy emerald eye peeked up at him through red stained hair.  The raging anger on the elf’s face would’ve been enough to have Anders stepping back, had he not also been able to recognize the clear fear there too.

                                  

“It’s okay,” Anders soothed, starting in on the most deadly wound in the elf’s stomach that had pierced jaggedly through his intestines, bleeding countless unmentionables out into the cold air.  “I’m a healer, I’m going to help you.”

 

The elf opened his mouth to speak but only blood and a faint wheeze came out, the stress causing him to choke and convulse.

 

“Calm down.  You’re going to be okay, but you need to stay still.” Anders hissed semi-frantically, too tired to be as soft-spoken as he should be when dealing with a patient like this. 

 

A hand covered in clawed metal gauntlets wrapped loosely around Anders’ wrist, scratching at the healer’s skin and leaving a bloodied smear.  _Maker_ , it looked like the elf had stuck his arm in a bucket of blood.  He evidently didn’t have strength to do anything more than that however, and Anders decided to allow the grasp as long as it didn’t get in his way.  He’d had many patients who’d needed to hold onto something to ground them while being healed, and even though this one was wearing armor spiky enough to skewer him, he wasn’t going to deny him.  Even if it seemed more like the elf wished to claw his throat out rather than hold his hand.

 

 

The elf’s slackening grip had needed to be removed a couple of lyrium potions later, as Anders’ magic wavered and he turned to non-arcane healing procedures.  Stiches, poultices, mashed up herbs and mixed potions coloured and dotted almost as much of the elf as newly healed wounds and the lyrium lines, but he was finally stabilized. Not that he didn’t still need a whole lot more healing and care to prevent infection, but at least now most of it was what time and rest should fix, with little need for more magic.  Huffing out a sigh, Anders took a moment to lean against the wall, uncorking another lyrium potion and just holding it as he took a second to rest. He didn’t really want to take another, but it could be necessary. 

 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.”  He protested when he noticed the elf staring at him, having passed in and out of consciousness as the healing progressed. “I’m just taking a second.  Neither one of us wants me to pass out while I’m trying to heal you.”

 

While that was funny to his sleep and mana deprived brain, his patient just watched him warily, as he had been since he’d first opened his eyes.  There was less anger and fear than there had been in the beginning, mostly turning into confusion tinged with resignation.

 

With another sigh, he stood back up, downing the lyrium and grimacing at the too strong taste.  “Can you give me your name?  I can’t keep on calling you ‘my patient’ in my head.”

 

“I am _not_ yours” The first words the elf had said so far were spat at Anders with such vitriol that he paused, taken aback.

 

Alright, so one thing the elf was still missing was his manners.  And after Anders had spent so long trying to keep him alive too!

 

 ‘ ** _He was fighting slavers.  And we do not own him’_** Justice rebuked, and Anders was reminded of the spirit’s confusion regarding Pounce.

 

 ‘ _I wasn’t saying I owned him.  You know I believe in freedom as much as you do’_ He snapped back.

 

Still, a disapproving nudge had Anders grimacing apologetically. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have put it like that.  You belong to yourself.  I’m just running on very little sleep and my mouth gets away from me sometimes _normally_ , so of course it is now.”

 

That had the elf’s eyes widening in surprise that instantly turned into suspicion, and he managed to hoist himself up onto one elbow, scooting back towards the edge of the cot as if to leave.

 

“Oh no, don’t do that, you’ll fall.”  Previous experience with unsteady patients had Anders lifting his hands in supplication and remaining where he was instead of rushing forward to stop the elf from aggravating anymore of his injuries.  “I’ve healed all of your injuries that would’ve been fatal on their own, but you still need more healing to prevent infections and ripping anything.  Give me a few more hours or you won’t make it anywhere on your own, in fact it’d be even better if you stayed here for the night, just so I can check on you.”

 

“You’re a mage” The elf said blankly, thankfully stopping his ill-fated scramble away.  Then his eyes narrowed again.  “You’re with the slavers”

 

“What? No! I mean, I am a mage, but I’m not with any slavers” Anders denied, shaking his head furiously as if to add more strength to his words.  “Absolutely not.  I have nothing to do with slavers unless it’s killing them.  No one should be owned, everyone deserves freedom.  I promise I’m not keeping you here and I’m not going to tell anyone you’re here.  Just, please.  Let me finish healing you, though it might take a while because I’m pretty sure I’m on the edge of lyrium poisoning and I really need to sleep before I can fix everything, and you will probably need to sleep before you can walk out of here.” He paused to take a breath “I swear I’m not going to let any harm come to you while you’re my patient.  A patient.  Here.”

 

Thankfully, the elf actually appeared to be considering his words, head slightly tilted to the side as he measured Anders.  He wasn’t a very patient man, but in this case he forced himself to stand still and wait, not wanting to startle the elf back into panicking. 

 

Taking the time to actually look at his patient— _the_ patient—instead of at his wounds, Anders was struck by just how gorgeous the elf was.  Having needed to remove most of the elf’s armor in the healing process, the lyrium—and he had decided that it was lyrium, even if that made no sense at all—was visible all across his body, highlighting muscles and drawing attention to his slender form.  Without the lyrium the elf would’ve still been gorgeous, with it he looked exotic.  Probably the reason the slavers had gone after him, Anders thought, instantly disgusted with himself.  Here he was trying to convince the elf that he wasn’t with any slavers, while at the same time looking at him like he was an object for viewing.  _Andraste’s smelly feet_ _,_ he was tired.


	2. Fenris

Fenris stared up at the mage, torn between fleeing and staying exactly where he was and letting someone help him for once.  The former instinct was almost winning out, but he had been in so much _pain._   And the mage had helped him.  Had healed him without humiliation or fingers dug into open wounds, without continuous reminders of what such a healing would cost.  Had apologized to him, and promised to _protect_ him.  A mage, promising to protect Fenris.

 

It was a lie, of course, but also a completely unprecedented one.

 

“Fenris” He blurted out suddenly, aware he hadn’t already answered the mage’s question, then wondering why he _had_.  It hadn’t been a conscious decision, more one from stress and fear.

 

“Great, I’m Anders.”  The mage nodded, shuffling and looking at his feet before squinting back up at Fenris. “Now, can I come back over there?  I just need to do another check to make sure I didn’t miss anything that will kill you in your sleep.  Or, that is, if you’re staying over.  I’d really recommend you did.  You’d better take my bed though, or else you’ll probably have a rude awakening from someone coming in at all hours of the morning needing healing.  I’ll sleep out here, need to do some work anyways.”

 

The mage used twenty words where five would do. 

 

Fenris narrowed his eyes, wondering what the point to such blathering was.  Did he think that he could trip up the elf with his incessant talking?  Make him fall for some illusion of safety in sleeping in the bed of a mage while said mage was only meters away? As if he didn’t know what that would end up entailing.  Perhaps the mage would twist it into some form of ‘payment’, or sneak in while Fenris slept.  The way didn’t matter.  Fenris would _not_ be falling for that one.  Not that a mage really needed a bed to do what this one intended.

 

“I am not so foolish to go willingly to your bed mage.   I did not agree to this, and I owe you no debt.” He hissed, managing to get his arms locked underneath him so he could sit up.  A glance around revealed no sword, but his armor was nearby, if torn up and in pieces.  Sputtering from the other brought Fenris’ eyes back up. 

 

“You think I’m going to, what, that I’d, _rape_ you?” The mage sputtered, “Ignoring just how offensive that that’s what you think of me- no, actually, not ignoring it.  What the hell have I done that would in _any_ way give you that impression?” 

 

He did have to admit, the mage did actually look horrified at the prospect.  And as his arms started to shake with strain, Fenris wondered why a mage would go through so much trouble if he could’ve just healed him enough to survive before having his way.  This he spoke aloud.

 

“Why?” The mage parroted Fenris’ words back at him, shaking his head as if in complete disbelief.  Or as if he were having a conversation inside his head.  Who really knew with mages. “Because I’m a healer, that’s what I _do_ , heal people. Anyone, I couldn’t give a crap who or what you are, I am a healer first and foremost.  Though if you’re a Templar we may have an issue, namely that as a generalized fact most Templars want me either Tranquil or dead, and let me inform you now, I am really not on board with either one of those.”  He stopped, and sighed, seemingly deflating.  “But that’s not the point.  You were in pain and I could fix it.  So I did.  You owe me nothing.  Though I would certainly appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone I’m here.” 

 

The amount of information poured out took a few moments to sink into Fenris’ pain addled brain and he bit his lip.  The mage feared the Templars.  Natural, for an apostate to fear those who would bring him to heel. 

 

“I will not tell them you are here, and you will tell no one I’m here, and let me leave without question.”  He demanded.  There was no way he would _sleep_ in the mages bed, but perhaps he could stay, if only for a few hours and a place to rest. 

 

Nodding slowly, the mage tilted his head.  “I can’t promise there won’t be a few questions, namely ‘how do you think you’re going to survive out there with your guts hanging out’, which is completely reasonable, considering that not even an hour ago I was putting your intestines together like a rather morbid jigsaw puzzle, but I won’t stop you from leaving.  Personal freedoms and all that.”

 

The picture painted was not one Fenris was fond of, but he allowed for the truth in the other’s statement.  Still, he wanted some sort of assurance of protection. 

 

“My gauntlets.” He finally replied, his voice coming out in a rasp.  Grimacing and clearing his throat, Fenris tried again.  “Pass me my gauntlets.”

 

Granted, Fenris could rip the mage’s heart out without them, but help from the sharpened talons wouldn’t go amiss while he was this weak. 

 

“Your…” The mage trailed off, then grimaced as he looked towards Fenris’ armor.  “Are you sure you want them?  With the amount of blood caked on, and the fact that I had to get them off somehow, I don’t know if they’ll actually be of any use.”  Fenris shifted warily and the mage blinked, seemingly coming to some sort of realization. “But I’ll get them for you anyway.

 

“I’d also recommend that you don’t do any walking for at least another day, but since I doubt you’ll want me carrying you anywhere” Here he paused for a second to catch Fenris’ furious headshake before continuing. “Can I at least get close enough to help you up?”

 

While the elf really didn’t want to accept any help from the mage past what he’d already given, he would admit that the man had only helped him thus far.  It would be easy to crush the mage’s heart if he tried to do anything untoward.  With that decided he nodded shallowly.

 

The mage wasted little time, moving efficiently if dulled by exhaustion.  First, and Fenris was grateful to not have to fight over this, he brought over Fenris’ gauntlets.  One the elf put to the side, cut up and temporarily unusable.  The other was fine, if stiff from dried blood, and it was with a small measure of relief that Fenris put it on.   Then came the hard part.

 

He stood on his own, shaking and in pain, but was forced by his body to accept help in order to walk.  The mage’s grip was secure but not too tight, shocking against Fenris’ bare skin.  Not touching the lyrium lines, but sending small tingles of sensation through them nonetheless.  It didn’t _hurt_ necessarily, not like the many partially healed wounds covering his skin or the touches of every other mage that had ever had cause to touch him without barriers, but for that Fenris was too perplexed to put a name to the sensation.  He’d noticed a difference during the healing, but due to circumstance hadn’t given name to the lack of pain. 

 

Still, he nearly fell into the cot tucked behind a curtain that he assumed was the mage’s bed.  The flare of pain as he was caught and lowered slowly managed to bring his mind back into a little more focus, and Fenris tensed, watching the mage warily as he released him and straightened.  A threadbare blanket was laid almost kindly over Fenris, and another one he had not noticed the mage grabbing joined it.

 

“Well, that’s that then.” The mage said, making a half-aborted motion to clasp his hands together.   “Umm, I’ll be just outside if you need anything.”

 

He shuffled in place once as if waiting for Fenris to say something, and when the elf was silent, he nodded once, decisively, and then left.  

 

It was abrupt and unceremonious, and Fenris wondered how long it would be until the mage came back.  Perhaps he would wait until he thought the elf was asleep?  Sneak in and wake him with pain and hands where they were forbidden to go.  Or maybe that wouldn’t even matter, and a paralysis glyph would announce his arrival, a cruel smile twisting his face as he lowered himself down upon the immobilized Fenris, brutally wrenching his legs apart and taking payment for the elf’s life in his body.  _Vasta fas_ , why had he agreed to this?  Why hadn’t he demanded his armor back and fled? 

 

Almost hyperventilating, Fenris forced himself to calm before he did any damage to his protesting ribs.  He would just have to stay awake and fight back as soon as the mage approached. His lyrium enhanced abilities were as of yet unknown to the mage, he could use that. 

 

Despite his fear, soon the darkness took over and Fenris was asleep.


	3. Anders

Anders’ eyes had barely shut before he was opening them again, a small query to Justice revealing that it was already morning and time to go about his day.  For a moment Anders considered just going back to sleep, no matter how uncomfortable his table was, but then the memory of last night’s patient came back and he groaned lowly.  However tired he was, he needed to get up.  While he didn’t know if Fenris had been able to fall asleep—the violent fear in his eyes said no—the elf would need something to eat. 

 

After quickly preforming his few morning necessities, he checked his kitchen cum storage area cum secret entrance for anything to eat and predictably, found nothing. Or rather, nothing that would be good to feed someone who only a day previous had his guts hanging out. 

 

Luckily Anders was actually prepared for something like this to happen, having kept patients overnight before and needed something easy for them to eat the next morning when they had no kin to provide for them _._   Pressing against a small lever not easily seen from outside, the side of his panty slid open, needing a little extra help to get all the way.  Inside there was a small space with an enchanted stone at the bottom, the cold emanating from it enough to keep the contents cool.  A block of cheese, some rock hard bread and a container of salted nug meat made up the edibles in the hidden cache. 

 

Anders deposited each on the counter, frowning at the stingy offerings.  It really wouldn’t do to have so little, especially seeing as he didn’t want to leave Fenris alone for how long it would take him to get more. 

 

Leaving them out temporarily, Anders headed to the front of his clinic, musing on the elf as he grabbed a few coins and set off in search of a Darktown citizen that could help him.  From their few conversations alone he could already tell Fenris had some sort of past trauma with mages—or it could be he just bought into the chantry’s ridiculous dogma, but Anders would give him the benefit of the doubt.  Fear like that, _accusations_ like that didn’t just spring up out of nowhere.  Which meant Anders would have to be very careful in dealing with him.  It would be a fine balance of healing Fenris and protecting himself.  Not to mention when the reply from Karl finally arrived…

 

It always made him anxious to send letters to Karl in the Gallows.  The blessings that were his letters back made it all worth it, but still, there was the nerve-racking chance of someone finding out.  Of Karl being punished by being made Tranquil or killed, and Anders being caught and then made Tranquil or killed.  The group that he was in contact with, ‘the mage underground’, had assured him that their channels were as safe as one could be when dealing with those Templar bastards, but they were still small and fallible.  When one was a mage there was always the chance for betrayal.  Who knew when the few reasonable Templars there were would decide that they didn’t want to help out anymore.   Barring that, who knew how long it would be before someone noticed.

 

But very soon it would be Karl’s turn to be brought out.  Very soon, and hopefully before anything went wrong.  Anders and Karl had been passing correspondences back and forth for almost a month, and Anders’ last letter was to tell him they were ready.  All that had to be decided was the day, and Anders would be there, ready to get him out.  That was, if Karl’s reply ever reached him to tell him the day.  It _would_ reach him though, today, it had to.  And worrying over it wouldn’t help anything move faster. 

 

Due to the timing and little chance that Fenris would be gone by then, Anders would have to tell the warrior that there was going to be a visitor coming in through the back door.  The elf _would_ be gone by the time the retrieval actually happened though, so that wouldn’t be a problem.  He would just convince Fenris that the letter had nothing to do with him and then usher him out as soon as he was finished healing and ready to go.  Without compromising his health of course.

 

“Healer?”  A voice snapped Anders out of his thoughts, and he looked down, recognizing the small child as one who had run errands for him in the past.

 

Right, Fenris first.  Afterwards he could go back to pretending he wasn’t worrying himself into his grave early even for a Grey Warden.  And pretending he wasn’t a horrible person for wishing the day ahead would be busy enough that he wouldn't have time to worry. 

 

After speaking to the child, Anders slipped back into his clinic, a number of coins lighter with the promise of food enough for Fenris, the kid, and some left over—hopefully—for himself.  The child and his mother lived nearby in Darktown, and loitered around the clinic sometimes on the off-chance Anders needed a runner.  He would give them coin, and in exchange they would get food for him, his patients and themselves.  They wouldn’t just take his coin and leave, as they knew they could get more meals if they continued to run for him. 

 

 For this morning alone the meager food he had would do, but it was nice to know he’d have some more for later, whatever other patients he had and perhaps some to send Fenris with on his way.  Cutting the bread, cheese and meat up into smaller bite sized pieces, Anders laid it out on a chipped plate for the elf, eating the end pieces of the bread and the crusty edges of the cheese himself.

 

Anders ducked into his backroom and was only semi-surprised to find Fenris asleep on his bed.  From here, with the harshest of wounds covered by blankets and shadow, the elf looked delicate, almost adorable.  He was curled up like a cat, the one gauntlet he had insisted on wearing clutching the blankets close like he was afraid even in sleep that they would be taken away.  The image was ruined by the blood staining his hair red, small white tufts barely visible where the splatter had missed.  Adorable, maybe at first glance.  Sorrowful, definitely.  Had those elves from Lowtown not picked him up, Fenris would be dead.  Having killed the slavers, yes, but at the cost of his own life. 

 

It was horrible, the abuses that were suffered here, both inside the circle and out.  And always with too few willing to help.  It was easier to walk by without a sideways glance, or even to join in, than it was to do something to change.  But Anders’ lot was already thrown in with the mages.  He would and was doing all he could to help the elves and the poor who lived in the muck of Kirkwall, but his first priority was Karl, and then the rest of the mages locked up in the gallows, no better than slaves themselves.  Forced to follow the whims of the corrupt Templars who commanded their every step. 

 

This elf was safe—‘ ** _For now_** ’ Justice amended—from the slavers.  Tevinter slavers likely.  And wasn’t that a harsh reality. 

 

Anders had seen, heard of, and killed enough slavers to know the corruption that Tevinter brought.  Where it should be a shining example of how freedom needed to be given to all, it instead turned around and enslaved others in turn.  Free from the Circles and entrenched in blood magic.  Not because they were mages, but because there had been horrible people at the beginning and the abuse of power had only spread.  If only the rest of Thedas didn’t just hear bad mages, and not the simplicity that it was, a few good, but mostly bad _people_ , mages or not.  Then him and Karl wouldn’t have been separated, and he wouldn’t be here now, waiting for correspondence so that he could finally see and free the man he’d dared to fall in love with. 

 

Once upon a time Anders had envisioned running to Tevinter to be free.  While in the Circle, nothing had sounded better.  He knew the lies the chantry spouted to discredit and disarm mages, and had believed that they lied about Tevinter as well.  The country, or the main cities he’d visited at least, had quickly proved him wrong.  Not all of them, but the amount of mages he had met who weren’t neck deep in blood and slavery had been little to nil.  The place was corrupt, and this blood covered elf was proof of that. 

 

Frowning, Anders tilted his head, examining the elf and trying to get a better grasp on his circumstances.  He had to be strong, a warrior who fought off so many slavers.  Distinctive too, and since the mage hadn’t heard of him from the many people in and out of his clinic, he assumed he hadn’t been here long.  Probably on the run.  He could definitely appreciate someone on the run, despite the warriors seeming hatred of mages.  Anders knew when hatred stemmed from fear.  Though privately he admitted that had he met Fenris in different circumstances he probably wouldn’t have noticed that fear.  Warriors were good at hiding, and he was rarely tolerant of those who spewed mage hating bigotry everywhere.

 

Fenris shifting on the bed drew Anders out of his ruminating and he shook his head, straightening and taking a step forward.  He’d get better answers from the elf himself.

 

“Fenris, I’ve got food.”  He said softly

 

His whisper may have been a shout for how the other reacted, eyes flying open and whole body tensing.  A bright glow illuminated all the visible lines on Fenris, and Anders couldn’t hold back a shocked gasp, Justice exploding to life in the back of his head.  _Blighted ashes!_ He had had no idea that was possible. 

 

Green-gold eyes stared up at Anders, searching his face and then the surroundings, surprise flaring and then dimmed as Fenris returned to glaring at Anders, the lyrium settling back to a dull glow. 

 

Not knowing what to say, he fell back on his tried and true method of babbling. “Well, that was neat.  I suppose you never need a torch then.  Easier to just glow yourself, far more convenient.”  Anders could’ve gone on about how Justice was quite good for glowing as well, but one, revealing that would’ve been unbelievably stupid, and two, Justice did not appreciate his convenience as a light source.  Wasted potential, Anders thought.  Or at least, it would be if not for mage lights. 

 

Instead of glowering, Fenris was now staring at the mage as if he was cracked in the head, but Anders supposed that was better than looking as if he was to tear his throat out.

 

“Alright then, I’ll give this to you.”  He said after waiting for a response and receiving none. 

 

He was careful in his walk, making sure not to rush and crowd Fenris, but also not to act like he was broken.  Warriors tended to take offence to that.  Or at least, Grey Warden warriors did, especially when they were actually wounded.

 

Anders rested the plate down beside Fenris, ignoring how tense the elf was, but prepared to defend himself nonetheless.  Thankfully there was no need.

 

“After you eat I can draw you up a bath, I assume you’ll want to be clean.  Blood is so uncomfortable when it’s not where it should be.”  He chattered, “Then again, if all your blood was where it should be, you’d have no need for my services.  Ah, wouldn’t that be nice.  A week where everyone kept their insides inside.  Of course there’d still be numerous other things that would need to be dealt with.  Messy stuff too, considering some of the things that a body doesn’t actually need inside of it.  Ugh, you’ve no idea the kinds of things that have been on these floors.  Thank the maker for fire, I’ve had to burn so many things to sanitize them.  This would not be a very good clinic otherwise.

Realizing as he took a breath that he was probably overwhelming the poor elf, Anders cut himself off. “Oh, sorry.  I’ve leave you to your food, won’t talk your ears off.  Draw up a bath instead.  Before you get in the tub I’ll need to take the stitches out and finish healing you.  If you haven’t gotten any infections, you should be good to leave sometime today.”

 

With that he clamped his mouth shut.  Just because he often found silence to be uncomfortable did not mean that Fenris would as well.  He smiled at the elf’s still confused mistrusting expression, and turned to busy himself without making the other anymore irritated that he had to already be. 

 

Anders didn’t exactly have the grandest of sleeping areas, as proved by the fact that his bathtub—a small metal basin not large enough for him to lie down in—was at the foot of his bed.  Since there was no other place separated from the main area of the clinic other than his ‘kitchen’, it was an unfortunate necessity if he wanted any privacy.  There was another tub in the main room of the clinic for patients, cut off from the rest of the room by a hanging cloth.  He supposed he could get Fenris to use that one, but something told him that the elf would want more privacy than that one would give.

 

Ice flowed easily from his fingers, filling the basin up to the top.  After that it was only a matter of melting the ice down until it was steaming, and adding more ice until the tub was full and at a reasonable temperature. 

 

“Alright, I’ll leave you with-” He paused, noticing that Fenris hadn’t eaten any of the food, and was back to glaring at him.  “Something wrong?” He ventured, trying to stop any irritation from slipping into his tone.  Yes, he lived in squalor.  But he did so in order to keep the clinic and himself free.

 

The elf stayed silent for a few seconds more before he glanced away, looking as if every word was dragged from him.  “Has anyone been looking for me?”

 

Well, that hadn’t been what he expected.  Better than comments on his living situation, he supposed.

 

“No, should there be?”  Either family or slavers.  He’d hope the former, but it was more likely the latter.  From Fenris’ instant growled denial, the answer was very likely slavers.  He sighed, straightening.  “No one has asked any questions about you, and I wouldn’t answer them even if they did.  Plus most of the citizens of Darktown and quite a few in Lowtown have needed my help before and will need it again, so they’re not going to direct anyone here.  You're safe.”

 

The snort that followed was somewhat insulting.  “Safe?  In the care of a mage?”  Fenris growled, his gauntleted hand clenching and unclenching with a small screeching sound. 

 

“Yes.  In the care of a mage. One who has done nothing but help you, in case you’ve forgotten” Anders shot back, much of his patience gone.  He had healed the elf, not asked anything in return, and wasn’t _going_ to ask anything in return.  The least Fenris could do was at least try and be civil. 

****

**_‘He is being unjust.  And scared.  Is that why, Anders?_** ’ Justice spoke, and instantly most of Anders’ anger was doused as he sent confirmation to the spirit.

 

Fenris had his head bowed and body drawn in on himself, armored arm partly raised as if to ward off any blows.  Not a good past with mages.  Anders had already discerned that.  Plus with the clear memory of fighting off slavers only the day before, and with some of his wounds clearly having been inflicted with magic, his fearful anger was justified, Anders supposed.  Just irritating to the tired mage. 

 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”  He sighed, and Fenris’ head shot up in shock.  “Unless you attack me, I’m not going to hurt you.  I know you don’t believe it, but you _are_ safe here.  So please eat.  I’ll get your armor, I’m guessing you’ll want to clean it after your bath.  Last week a family gave me some metal wax for my tools, but I’ve already got some, so you can use it.  I imagine you had a weapon before, but the people who brought you in didn’t, so I’m afraid you’ll have to go without.”

 

Without waiting for a reply, Anders ducked out of the little living space, passing through the cramped 4' by 6' kitchen and into the clinic.  It took him two trips to bring back all of the armor, and he only glanced at the elf to check that he was finally eating.  Then it was just a matter of finding the wax.

 

He shuffled around in his kitchen-cum-storage area, taking down the instruments he'd just had out the night before. Scissors, scalpels, a small metal saw, his collection of expensive and well taken care of items.  Magic could only and _should_ only do so much when it came to healing.  Too much too often and a body might forget how it was supposed to work.  Additionally—and most commonly happening with bones—too much healing in one place could speed up regeneration there while leaving the rest to receive less of the nutrition it needed.  There were so many things that could go wrong.  Anders was, however, a talented enough spirit healer that things rarely if ever did end going wrong because of his care.  Not to say there wasn’t the chance of infections.  Anders really should’ve gotten Fenris to wash up the night before…  But that couldn’t be changed now, he’d just give him the tin of wax for an unspoken apology.

 

Anders had been quite grateful for the small tin he had gotten as unnecessary payment.  It wasn’t something he used a lot, but it was necessary to keep things from sticking or rust from developing.  Still, he had some of his own leftover, and Fenris would need working armor, being on the run and all.  Grabbing the scissors and the wax, he went to confront the elf.

 

When he returned he found Fenris had already finished eating, sitting up with the blankets wrapped around him. 

 

“Alright, time to get those stitches out then.”  Anders announced, walking over to the elf.  “I won’t finish healing them completely, your body wouldn’t thank me for that, but enough so that you can have a bath.”  

 

“No.” The abrupt denial stopped Anders in his tracks, and he frowned as the elf continued speaking.  “You will not use any magic on me.”

 

He gaped.  “That’s ridiculous!  If it wasn’t for me using magic on you you’d be dead already.  It’s not like I’m doing anything unnatural, just speeding up the healing process.”  It might’ve been manipulative, and based on his need to get the mage-hating elf out of his clinic before Anders left to rescue Karl, but he couldn’t resist adding “I assume you’d want to be in fighting shape as soon as possible, and I can help that.”

 

He could tell the elf was struggling about that, trying to decide the lesser of two evils.  Not that Anders’ magic was an evil, but evidently _he_ couldn’t see that. 

 

“Fine.”  Fenris finally said, and the loathing in his voice was almost enough for Anders to second guess himself. 

 

The elf was practically vibrating as Anders made his way over, only removing the blanket enough each time for him to see the wounds.  He ignored the obvious discontent, not knowing if anything he could say would help, and not willing to risk making things worse.  It would not leave a good precedence if he ended up attacking a patient, no matter how annoying or ungrateful said patient was.

 

So he worked quickly, cutting the strings, pulling them out and then sending brief pulses of healing into the wounds, closing just past the point at which they wouldn’t break open at a touch.  Fenris had healed surprisingly fast, which meant less magical healing, something he was sure the elf was thankful for; that was, if he’d even noticed.  There were a few small infections developing that Anders quickly took care of, but nothing too far alone that it couldn’t be taken care of swiftly.  The last wound, a deep one that had gone through a lyrium line on Fenris’ hip also gave him some trouble as he couldn’t see behind the lyrium, but he finished healing it anyways, noting that the elf healed quicker around the lines.   

 

“Alright, that’s it.”  Anders finally said, sitting back on his heels to look up at a still-glaring Fenris.  Grinning in false cheer he announced brightly, “Bath-time now!”  

 

If the elf tilted his head any farther Anders thought it would probably fall off.  He let out a small laugh of actual humor and stood, wincing when his back protested with a _crack_.  “I swear I’m not actually that old, the Circle just made my body think it is.”

 

He gathered up the scraps of thread, only slightly bothered by Fenris’ lack of response and determined to not let it show.  Seriously, it was like the elf didn’t have any emotions other than ‘what the hell is the mage doing’, ‘the mage is evil’, and ‘I must not speak around the mage’.  Grabbing the almost empty plate in his other hand, Anders left without another word, knowing the elf would want to get to the bath and bathe on his own.

 

It only took about fifteen more minutes for Anders to get the clinic ready for the day, and he decided to check in on his overnight guest one more time before lighting the lantern that signalled the clinic’s opening. Declaring his entrance beforehand, he paused in the doorway.  Fenris looked almost comical in the tub, too big for the small space.  Elves were naturally small, and though Fenris was above average in height, he still didn’t fit well.  Strangely enough, his hair wasn’t washed, though from what Anders could see the rest of him was. 

 

“Are you okay?”  Anders ventured, tensing at the slightly pained look on Fenris’ paler than normal face.

 

Said pained look disappeared under a glare, but his question wasn’t immediately rejected, only adding to the mage’s worry.  Had he missed something in his healing?

 

“I can’t bend enough to wash my hair out.”  The elf finally muttered.

 

“Shit” Was Anders’ eloquent response, before he shook his head and took a couple steps forward.   “Are your muscles too tense?  Is there a specific place giving you pain?” 

 

Fenris squinted at him, blinking slowly and uncurling enough to point at his hip area.  Anders could barely see it through the red water, but he remembered the gash that had been there, the one that had gone through the lyrium.

 

“Alright, I’m going to need you to get out of the tub so I can see what went wrong.”  He said calmingly, taking the weird head dip Fenris did as affirmation. 

 

“Look away” Fenris demanded, not moving

 

“I’ll look at you out of the corner of my eye.”  Anders compromised, turning to face the side of the room.  “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, and I want to be able to catch you if you’re going to fall.”

 

 Evidently this was enough of a compromise for him, as Anders could see the elf standing, wobbling some but gaining back his footing as he stepped out of the bath, bloodied water sloshing everywhere.  Then he was falling to his knees and all irritation was forgotten as Anders darted forward to catch him. 

 

Immediately the elf turned, his lyrium flaring white as he lashed out at Anders.  With a startled shout the mage fell backwards, the elf’s hand just brushing his coat and _sinking into his chest._ There was a burst of horrific pain and then Anders was scrambling backwards out of range.  Justice let of a strangled cry in a mix a pain and pleasure at the invasion, confirming that Anders wasn’t going mad and that Fenris had _tried to crush his fucking heart_. 

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” The elf cut himself off with a look of horror and self-loathing changing to glaring at Anders, the hand he'd used to catch himself spasming on the ground.

 

 ** _”He_ was _a slave.  Do you see how he falls back on what he has been taught?  Unjust things have happened to this elf.  We must find out what we did wrong that he still suffers.  We must help him._** ” Justice murmured, somehow sleepily after what had happened.

 

 Anders just gaped, completely lost as to what had just transpired.  Unable to comprehend it in his head, he tried it aloud

 

“What the fuck.” That didn’t help.

 

The elf’s full body flinch at Anders’ words didn’t either.


	4. Fenris

_Verhedies_ , what had he been thinking?  He had already reacted horribly, he should’ve just torn out the mages heart and run.  Now he was naked, wounded, and weaponless, trapped in a small space with a mage who he’d just attacked.  A mage who’d already said he’d hurt him if he attacked.  And why had his first reaction been to  _apologize?_ Was he really that far stuck into the mentality of a slave that his immediate reaction would be to cower and plead forgiveness?  It had been the mages fault, the mage who had made a move that tricked Fenris into attacking him.  Maybe to get Fenris to attack first, so he’d have some sort of sick justification to hurt him.  Who knew with the mind of a mage. 

 

The mage stood up and Fenris shied away, the water still coating him feeling like ice in the still air of the mage’s room.  He had fought off the slavers that had come for him, had been so close to finding and killing Danarius, and now he was about to die in Kirkwall, at the hands of an apostate. He'd like to make the mage work for his death, but really, in the position he was in, what could he really do? 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

And that was the last thing Fenris had expected the mage to say.  

 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” The mage continued in spite of Fenris' disbelief, a chastised expression on his face.  “I already knew you react violently when you feel threatened, and I should’ve been more cautious.  I promise I’m trying to make your stay here as non-stressful as possible, I’m just rather absent minded sometimes.  And I’m not even going to touch on the fact that you became ethereal for a few seconds there.  Nope, way too much for too early in the morning.

 

“Instead, we should both agree to cease all violent behavior until you’re no longer a patient of mine and free to go around killing as many slavers as possible while I continue leading a peaceful, occasionally Templar-hostile life here.”  The mage nodded, still far too calmly, “Before that however, we need to touch on the fact that you just fell over completely out of the blue and since I was just saying you’d be able to leave today, I really need to figure out why that is.  So if you would mind sitting down on the bed—you can have the blanket—I need to be able to see what’s still causing you pain in order to fix it.”

 

The rambling had Fenris’ head spinning, and vaguely he acknowledged that that was indeed off from how thing usually were.  But, the mage wasn’t angry for what Fenris had done?  Wasn’t going to hurt him? 

 

“I didn’t-”He cut himself off, trying to figure out how to say he hadn’t meant to attack in a way that didn’t come off as submissive.  It was important that he know that there was no reason to hurt Fenris.  Not that there would be a reason.  Fenris was a free elf, and there was no reason for him to accept that kind of treatment. “You will not harm me.”

 

The mage shook his head vigorously.  “No, absolutely not.  I want to help you, to fix what went wrong.  I promise I’m not going to hurt you. You didn't, or at least I'm pretty sure you didn't mean to hurt me, so we'll let it pass and continue on.” 

 

Still suspicious, Fenris attempted to stand, only to find himself back on the floor again.  Sprawled out on the ground with no memory of the in-between moments.  There was a buzzing in his ears that he recognized, and his brands were throbbing in memory.  Was Danarius there?  Was he changing the brands?  What was going on? Hadn't, hadn't he been in Kirkwall? Danarius wouldn't work on his brands outside the imperium...

 

 

There was a flash of being picked up, laid down on a cot that he faintly recognized.  Hands on his body, a single pair rather than many.  Pain and the contents of his stomach vacating the premises.  A disgusted noise, aborted into panic and worry as everything blurred out again. 

 

 

Pain, burning pain.  The brands of lyrium were like fire, erasing his memories and leaving a blank slate.  ’ _My pet, my little wolf’_ The words were poison, slowly dripping into his ears, burning him and crawling into his head to dig in deep roots and grasping claws. 

 

 

No one was there to help him.  There was nothing to soothe the flames that licked across his body, following patterns and swirls etched forever into his skin.  He was all alone in the pain filled hell.

 

 

All alone.

 

 

Then there was a hand, gently tilting his head up, cool water poured down his throat to ease the burning.  A soft cloth wiping the sweat and heat from his forehead, armpits, and groin.  Clinical, without take advantage.  A soft voice gently murmuring promises of safety that Fenris latched onto.  Peace. 

 

 

 

And then there was a mage sleeping next to him. 

 

Well, not quite next to him.  But on the floor beside the mattress Fenris was laying on. 

 

It was, interesting, the idea of a mage sleeping so comfortably next to an elf who was fully prepared at every moment to kill any mage that came near him.  But he recognized this mage…

 

Oh, right. 

 

Memories came back to Fenris in a steady stream.  Wanting to protest, to not take anything from the mage and then steadily giving in as more and more comforts were offered.  First sleep, then food, then a bath.  All wonderfully luxuries after so long on the run, yet in behind it the pain in his hip aching and crippling him until he couldn’t even stand.   The mage’s exasperation and irritation with Fenris, then worry as he realized the warrior was hurt. Worry, and then help, as evidenced by the fact that Fenris was still alive and feeling better than he had in a while.  Both given without any price—that Fenris as of yet knew of—without any tricks, and without any scorn.  And Fenris truly did feel better. The whole area that a short while ago had reminded him of the branding of his lyrium was now eased, barely aching at all.  Less than they had in a long time, perhaps as far as could be remembered.

 

But hadn’t Fenris harmed the mage?  He very clearly recalled the sensation of his hand sinking through a robe and then brushing the insides of the other’s chest, barely touching his heart before he was out of range.  His own humiliating and instinctive fearful reaction.  He had tried to turn it into something else, but then a haze had overtaken and he had no idea what happened next.

 

The mage had helped him.  That still stood clear.  Even though Fenris had attacked him, and vomited on him, if Fenris was remembering that part correctly.  Yet now he was sleeping almost peacefully, just a few inches beside and below him.  Trusting Fenris without beforehand etching obedience into his skin.  It was completely unprecedented.  

 

As Fenris couldn’t make heads or tails of his thoughts, he watched the other.  The mage was at least interesting to look at.  A façade of harmlessness covering what had to be a cruel magic user beneath.  Handsome as well, Fenris supposed, if one could look at a mage and see such a thing.  An angular face, golden hair, too thin cheeks.  His head resting on the robe with feathers.  Ridiculous, but then as Fenris’ own armour sported spikes where the mage's feathers were, perhaps he had no basis to speak on.  His neck and shoulders were bare, and Fenris realized that the mage must be without a shirt, if not naked.  In the same breath there was the more—and less, considering how it must’ve happened—comfortable realization that he himself was wearing clothes of some kind under the blankets.

 

He must’ve made some sort of noise, because the mage let out a groan, rolling over so his face was hidden from view.  He stretched, then stilled, before peaking up at Fenris.

 

“Ah.  You’re awake then.”  He observed, blinking and yawning sleepily.  Then, as if he hadn’t just woken up moments before, he continued. “You’ve been really out of it.  One of the slavers must’ve had a rusty blade, because a piece of it came off and stuck in your hip.  I hadn’t noticed it and it, _reacted_ somehow with your lyrium.  Infected it and caused you to pass out.  You’ve been on-off in terms of coherence for a while now, since your bath.” He paused, glancing again at Fenris and furrowing his brow.  “You are coherent now, right?”

 

Fenris nodded dumbly, his mind still stuck on what the mage had said.  “How long?”  He had missed Danarius then.  If the magister had been in Kirkwall, he was gone now.

 

“A day, give or take a couple hours.  I fixed you up the best I could yesterday morning, fed you throughout the day, you woke up for a while last night, ate a whole bowl of soup, and then slept right through the night.  Or at least I assume so, since I’ve been here for a while and haven’t woken up ‘til now.”

 

The mage was looking at Fenris strangely and the warrior bristled.  Did he know what this lost day meant for him?  “What is it?  There’s something else.”

 

“Ah, yes.”  The mage grimaced, glancing away as if he couldn’t bear to hold Fenris’ gaze.  Then, he sighed and looked back up, as if having determined that this was something that needed to be done.  Fenris tensed. 

 

“This was my fault.  I couldn’t see deep enough into the cut because the lyrium was messing with my magic, but I should’ve paid more attention anyways.  I already knew I was having issues with magical healing, I should’ve just used a scalpel to check around all of your lyrium.”  He grimaced.  “I had to cut your hip back open and then clean it out completely.  It would’ve been fine earlier, but with the spread of the infection we ended up with one of the lines broken from skin that had to be cut away.  That caused you even more pain, so Just- _I_ had the brilliant idea to add more.  And it did stop your screaming, so evidently it helped. Of course then I realized why they must all be causing pain in the first place. Your body is fighting itself trying to figure out whether to reject or accept them. 

 

“I mean, I’d found some signs that someone had healed them in the past, but they obviously didn’t care to do enough to stop the pain, just enough that it wouldn’t eventually kill you.”  A huff of anger followed the horrifying words, but still the mage continued “It didn’t actually take that much to create a balance once I’d discerned what was happening.  I did have to place a small tied off weave of healing magic into the lyrium I added.  It’s small and connected to enough lyrium that it’ll be permanent and completely disconnected from me, so even if I die it’ll continue working.  Plus it spread out through the lines around your hip, so in theory it wouldn’t even take that many weaves to cover your entire body and completely stop the pain.  Of course, I stopped then as I wanted to talk to you before anything else happens.  Only worked with the small part that replaced the part that got infected, promise.”  He paused, “I’m sorry though, for doing it without your permission.  If it wasn’t so bad that you wouldn’t have been alive to give an opinion, I would’ve asked.”

 

“You added more lyrium.”  The elf said flatly, that part of the long spiel standing out to him the most.  It had taken Danarius years and many failed experiments to figure out how to do such, as the magistar was so fond of reminding Fenris.  That this mage had done it like it was nothing…  “You’re a blood mage.”  The accusation was made with the weary sort of anger, as if so much had already gone wrong that the warrior couldn’t muster up the energy to be surprised that this too wasn’t the way it should be.  He hadn’t thought it before, what with the whole ‘healer’ persona that the mage had, but it wouldn’t surprise him.

 

In contrast, the mage’s reaction was filled with burning anger, a hand quickly slapped over his face for a few moments while he visibly collected himself enough to speak. 

 

“First thing in the morning, and I’ve already got one blood magic accusation under my belt.  Funny, I would’ve thought I’d least need to leave the clinic for that.”  He grumbled, biting his lip and then releasing it with a slow sigh.  “But no.  In the past I’ve never used blood magic, in the present I’m not using it, and in the future I will never use it.  I’m a spirit healer, blood magic goes against everything I believe in.  I will assume that adding the lyrium is what made you go at that angle, considering how you haven’t called me a blood mage to my face before, so if you’d like, I can explain to you exactly what I did.  I promise, there was no blood magic involved.” Then the mage stopped, an angry look crossing his face.  “Except of course whatever had already been used to, what, _brand_ the lyrium into you?  I could feel it you know.  Little bits hanging on.  If those brands weren’t your choice, I can tell why you hate mages.”

 

Fenris believed him.  Wasn’t quite sure why-or no, that wasn’t all true.  He did know why, and while his belief that this mage at least wasn’t a blood magic user was shaky, it _was_ there.  The mage had done nothing but help Fenris so far.  And there hadn’t been any of the underlying manipulation which Danarius had trained the elf to find.  As best as he could tell, this mage was merely a deluded apostate who probably had many hidden vices, but at least in the current point in time wasn’t a blood mage.  Going to betray Fenris?  Probably.  But he hadn’t yet, so perhaps he’d have more time to-wait.  _Wait_.

 

“There’s still blood magic in me?”  Fenris rasped out, fear clenching tight within him.  He’d suspected that Danarius had some way of tracking him and keeping him tethered, but that didn’t mean it didn’t scare him to hear it put so blatantly. 

 

“Yes” He nodded.  “I was actually going to talk to you about that as well.  I want to get rid of it, or at least see if I can do something about it.  Of course that’s where we run into a problem.”

 

“What?”  Fenris asked, the brands they were speaking of glowing slightly.  If the mage thought that he could get the warrior to admit to owing him anything, he had another thing coming.  And if he thought to trade the removal of the blood magic for...

 

“That.  That right there.”  One of the mage’s hands lit up in a soft glow and Fenris tensed even as it was quickly extinguished.  “And this.  You don’t trust me because I’m a mage.  And while I’m starting to see where you’re coming from, that doesn’t help any.  Because I can’t just tell you that I’m trustworthy and expect you to believe it.  That’s not how people work.  Trust is built.  And if you’re staying here for long enough for me to help you—which I’d recommend, but I’m not going to enforce—then we need to work on that.  Then on the flip side, I don’t know if I can trust you to not turn me into the Templars, or to not to kill me when I inevitably slip up and make a motion that translates to aggressive.”

 

Fenris made a noncommittal noise when the mage spoke of him staying there, and repositioned himself on the bed.  He’d have to think about it.  The chance to get rid of the blood magic, to get rid of the invisible arcane leash, it was temping, but at the hands of another mage.  A helpful mage.  Yet the problems he had laid out, while they weren’t _all_ of them, were true.   “You’re right, and I can't say I’ll ever trust you.  So what now?” 

 

 “Well, we ask what you need me to do in order for you to trust me.  Or at least, trust me enough that we can coexist here while you’re healing.  Preferably with my heart still in my chest.” Anders said wryly, for the first time that morning stopping without turning it into a large speech.

 

Probably for the better, but it gave Fenris no time to think.  Not that he had really been able to considering how quickly the mage jumped topics.  And now here was a question with no answer that Fenris could give and trust the result of.  From the mage’s expression, he read that without words.

 

“Well then,” the mage said, grimacing and digging the side of his head into the pillow in shared irritation. “I guess we’ll just have to work on that.”

 

Fenris mirrored the grimace, but as he stretched his legs out and felt none of the permanent ache in the brands on one hip, he wondered if maybe he should work with the mage.  Complete trust was an impossibility, but perhaps a little bit could be okay, just for the circumstances.  He _wouldn’t_ allow himself to become the slave of another mage.  But maybe, just maybe, he could stay with this one long enough to cut his chains from the last one.  He wouldn’t even have to stay in the clinic.  He could check out the mansion Danarius was staying in to make sure he was gone, and then stay there.  Then the only requirement would be periodic trips to wherever in Kirkwall this clinic was.  Fenris would find a way to pay the mage back without letting him know that the elf felt he owed him anything at all, and maybe it would be alright.

 

“First” He began hesitantly, “You can start by telling me how you figured out how to add more lyrium”

 

The smile the mage gave was hopeful, and while he wouldn’t show it, there was a possibility that Fenris felt it too.


	5. Anders

A quick knock on the back entrance to the clinic had both Anders and Fenris freezing, then glancing up simultaneously.  As the mage had been expecting a visitor the day after Fenris arrived—a day taken up by the infection that had left the elf bedridden—it wasn’t surprising, just, caution inducing. 

 

He'd been sure to tell Fenris about the secret entrance shortly after the morning’s conversation on trust, but it would be interesting to see how he reacted.  Justifiably, Anders had been wary about the easily agitated warrior finding out from someone appearing in the middle of the night only to have their heart removed.  From the half-scared, half-cagey look now on Fenris’ face, it had been a good decision.  Probably one better made earlier, but had the infection not slowed the elf down he probably would’ve already been gone by now, flighty as he was. 

 

Anders opened the door, leading with his staff as a precaution.  His contact from the Gallows jumped and thrust a sheet of paper at him.  Oh thank the maker.  After the letters had stopped for such a time he wasn’t sure if he’d even get this last one.  The most important. 

 

Reading the message had all other thought fleeing from his mind and Anders slumped to the ground, just having the presence of mind to keep his staff from falling too hard against the ground.   _Karl._ Finally a response from the man.  But he’d been right.  The Templars had found out, though it didn’t give detail.  Just that they’d only have one chance that very day to get Karl out.  It was all he’d been waiting for, the good and the bad.  The Templars knew, but there was still a chance.  Narrow and closing fast, but a chance nonetheless. 

 

The outcome of this could go one of three ways.  They could both die.  The most likely ending, as two mages against a group of people trained specifically to take them down weren’t exactly safe.  Or Anders and Karl could stay in Kirkwall and joint run this clinic he had spent the last three months building, and they’d help the mage underground in their free time.  The group hadn’t been very forthcoming with Anders as of yet, but they’d helped him get in contact with Karl and that was all that mattered at the moment.  The other option had them forced to leave Kirkwall altogether, to run, perhaps to another of the Free Marchers cities, perhaps elsewhere.  Whatever way, after tonight they’d be together.

 

He quickly scribbled a reply on a loose sheet of parchment and gave it to the twitchy man who promptly turned and fled, barely responding to Anders’ murmured thanks. 

 

“Mage?” The voice surprised him and Anders realized he’d almost forgotten about Fenris.  “What has happened?”

 

Anders narrowed his eyes at the warrior, debating how much to tell the other.  He had sprung back from the infection almost as abnormally quickly as he’d fallen to it, but was still weak.  Stiches peeked out from under the clothes Anders had managed to cobble together for the other, helping attest to this.  Most of the herbs and plants had done their work, but Fenris had predictably refused any further magical healing.  While the elf might leave of his own choice before, Anders didn’t really want him to leave for at least another day or two, especially if he was still being chased.  Which meant he’d meet Karl. 

_’ **Why do you hesitate to tell him?’**  _ Justice prodded, confused by the turmoil Anders was in.

 

 _’Because_ I _don’t_ _trust him_ ’ It was easy enough to ask the elf to trust him, and to trust the elf with his own safety, despite the phantom ache from the hand in his chest, but with Karl’s?  Fenris had already made his opinion on mages clear. 

 

“You’ve asked me to trust you.”  Fenris continued before Anders could come to a decision.  “And yet you hide something that affects you so?  Have you called the slavers on me?”

 

 ** _'It is unjust'_** Justice agreed and Anders shook his head in irritation.

 

“This has nothing to do with you Fenris.  I'm never going to turn you in.”  He began without any clear idea of what he was about to say.  “It’s, this isn’t, it’s not something I can” Giving up on that sentence altogether he sighed. “You’ve already made your opinion on mages clear, and by extension I’m pretty sure you agree with the Circles.  This doesn’t have anything to do with you, but it does have to do with those.”

 

Fenris cocked his head, eyes darting from the letter in Anders’ hands to the secret entrance and then back, mind obviously working furiously.  And then there was the realization.  “You’re staging a breakout from the Gallows!”  He accused

 

When he wasn’t fever addled, one could not accuse the elf of being slow, that was for sure.

 

“Yes” Anders confirmed tensely.  He didn’t want to hurt the elf, and he couldn’t have the other mess this up.  One of those was an absolute, and the other made him feel sick.  “I’m getting Karl out.”  With that Anders reached out to pass Fenris the letter. 

 

Instead of taking it, the elf flinched into a defensive position as soon as Anders moved, his tattoos glowing threateningly. 

 

“Woah!” Anders said, automatically putting his hands up in a gesture he barely managed to keep from being mocking.  “Fenris, I’m not going to hurt you” The words tasted like ashes. “I was just giving it to you to read.  To prove that it doesn’t have to do with you”

 

Fenris glared in response, but the lyrium stopped glowing and Anders took that as a good sign. 

 

“So what, you, an apostate, are going to the gallows in order to take another mage from where he rightfully belongs?”  The elf laid it out like it was vile, and Anders saw red.

 

“Fuck you!” He spat, standing, the letter in his hand crumpling unnoticed in his grip.  “You fought against being a slave yourself, yet condemn mages, condemn me for wanting to be free?  Karl does not belong in the Gallows, _I_ do not belong in the Gallows.  Or do I?  Is that what you think?  That instead of here, saving your life, knitting your guts back together and trying to figure out how to keep you alive and out of pain, I should be locked up?”

 

He waited, but it seemed like that had taken the wind out of Fenris’ sails.  The elf shuffled in place, looking down at his feet in way that felt almost considering.  He’d just opened his mouth to reply, with what Anders didn’t know, when a cry from the front of the clinic alerted them to a new patient. 

 

“Here, read it.  This has nothing to do with you” Anders dropped the crumpled note on the counter beside them, then turned to deal with the newest arrival to his clinic. 

 

 

 

 ** _’There is a group of armed people coming that have no aliment to be cured.  They breathe chaos and change into the air.’_** Justice whispered almost as soon as Anders had finished healing.

 

This warning was furthered by the sight of Fenris stiffening at the back of the clinic, his armored hands clenching as if wishing for a sword.  Made weary from the healing and emotionally distraught from worrying over Karl and arguing with Fenris, Anders could feel Justice emerging momentarily, unnoticed by anyone except himself.  Armed people coming to the clinic.  It didn’t matter whether they were here for Fenris or for him.  They would _not_ get far.

 

Grabbing his staff off the wall, Anders whirled around, putting up a hand to stop the intruders from approaching any closer.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Fenris taking a couple steps forward. 

 

“I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation, why do you threaten it?”  He demanded

 

“I’m just here to talk” The woman assured, her gentle voice at odds with the giant axe strapped to her back.

          

“Of what?”

 

“The Deep Roads” Was the surprising reply, but little better, he supposed, then of apostates, Templars, or slavers.

 

“Did the Wardens send you to bring me back?” None of them were wardens themselves, so at least there was that.  Still, Anders had bad memories of leaving.  Amaranthine, the Templars, Justice. “I’m not going.  Those bastards made me get rid of my cat.  Poor Ser Pounce-A-Lot, he hated the Deep Roads.” _Not to mention_ he _hated the Deep Roads too._

 

Fenris gave him a half resigned, half incredulous side eye, but Anders ignored it, and the completely incredulous look the lady with red hair gave him.

 

“You had a cat named Ser Pounce-A-Lot?  In the Deep Roads?”  The first woman asked. 

 

Ah, so it was that they were surprised about.  Anders didn’t know why, Ser Pounce-A-Lot was a fine name for a fine feline. 

 

“He was a gift.  A noble beast.”  He said defensively.  “Almost got ripped in half by a genlock once.  He swatted the bugger on the nose, drew blood too.  The blighted Wardens said he made me too ‘soft’.  I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine.”

 

It hadn’t mattered to them that it had been the Warden Commander what gave him Pounce.  Only that he was something Anders loved, and to the Templars that had followed him into the Wardens, mages weren’t allowed to love.  Anything, human or cat. 

 

“I’ve always heard that joining the Wardens is for life.”  'Heard'.  Definitely not with the wardens then.  That was a relief.  Especially with Fenris there, Anders didn’t need someone trying to drag him back like a runaway apostate.

 

“That’s only partly true” Anders shrugged “The 'hopelessly tainted by the Darkspawn' and 'plagued by nightmares about the archdemon' parts don’t go away.  But it turns out if you hide well you don’t have to wear the uniform or go to the party.”

 

“So you came to Kirkwall just to escape the Wardens.”

 

“You say that like it’s a small thing.”  Anders accused.  “Yes, I’m here because there’s no Warden outpost, no Darkspawn, and a whole host of refuges to blend in with.”  He lowered his gaze.  “And some reasons of my own.”

 

Karl.  And he’d be getting him back that very night. 

 

“I’m part of an expedition to the Deep Roads.  Any information you have could save people’s lives.”  Ah, playing the healer card.

 

“I will die a happy man if I never have to think about the blighted Deep Roads again.  You can’t imagine what I’m gone through to get here. I’m not interested in-  Although”  He broke himself off, a thought forming.  He couldn’t exactly leave Fenris alone, nor take him with to rescue Karl, but… “A favor for a favor.  Does that sound like a fair deal?  You help me, I’ll you.”

 

“Let’s be more specific.  I don’t do anything involving children or animals.”  She stated firmly. 

 

“I have a Warden Map of the depths in this area.  But there’s a price.”  He turned away to pace, determinedly not looking at the warrior.  If Fenris couldn’t deal with it, that was his problem, not Anders’.  “I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend.  A mage, a prisoner in the wretched Gallows.  The Templars learned of my plans to free him.  Help me bring him safely past them, and you shall have your maps.    

 

“I would help any mage in such circumstances, map or no.”  The woman said, her eyes drifting to the side to another woman with similar features and a staff strapped to her back. 

 

“I welcome your aid.  I have already sent word for Karl to meet me in the chantry tonight.  Join me there, and we’ll ensure that no matter who is with him, that we’ll walk away free” Justice’s passion mixed with Anders’ desire to see Karl again, but he gave a small shake of his head, reminding himself to take care of everyone.  “And I need someone to stay with Fenris.” 

 

The elf in question froze, turning to Anders "I can look after myself"

 

"I know you can, but my clinic is neither the safest nor the most inconspicuous place.  I'd feel better if there was someone here in case something happened." He would too, he realized, even though he'd said it first for Fenris' benefit.  Despite the warrior's disagreement with mages in general, Anders didn't want to see him harmed.

 

The warrior pursed his lips but caved quickly with a shallow nod.  As soon as Fenris’ had agreed, Hawke turned to his companions without speaking, the shortest of whom mirrored the warrior's action.

 

"I can stay" the dwarf offered "I've got a handful of contacts down here who can keep us up to date, I'll just have to get the word out to then to watch out for any armed people heading this way."

 

"You will not tell anyone about me" Fenris demanded

 

"Not a word from any of us" the dwarf mimed zipping his lips and the lady repeated the gesture.

 

"There’d better not be, not if you want to get the maps.” Anders cut in “Meet me at the chantry right after dark.  And thank you."

 

As soon as the small group had left, Fenris whipped around, accusing, "You're going to trust them? You don't even know them, they could turn you into the Templars!"

 

"You would like that though, wouldn't you? They'd turn me Tranquil and keep Karl nice and locked in the Gallows until he died.  Then you’d be safe from all of us horrible mages." Anders spat, all his earlier ire at the elf springing back to replace the relief he’d felt over having someone to help him with Karl.

 

Silence met his remark and Anders was filled with the empty satisfaction of being correct.  Anders healed him, did everything to ensure he'd be okay, and in return all the elf could see was that he was a mage, same as those who’d tormented him.   Nothing had changed just because of the conversation they’d had the night before and the fact that Fenris’d been helping around the clinic where he could. 

 

The elf joined him in cleaning after a bit, and Anders took it for a nonverbal truce.  Normally he might actually try to make amends with his wayward patient, but his mind was too consumed with Karl to give it more than thought.  Once Fenris had met Karl he'd change his mind on the mage.  No one could meet the man and not be drawn in by his calm caring personality.  Anders loved him, and while Fenris wouldn’t _love_ him as well, he wouldn’t be able to resist liking him.  Then they could work on the hatred and fear of mages.


	6. Fenris

He should've gone with the mage. 

 

The thought reverberated in Fenris' head, battling with his dislike at the mage’s actions.  He wished he’d gone so he could protect the so-far kind healer, but what the fool was doing was, well, foolish.  How could Fenris aid in breaking a mage out of the place where they were put to keep the natural population safe? But how ungrateful was he being that he'd let the man go to rescue his lover alone? It was a hard conundrum, one he'd not yet thought of a way to answer. 

 

Five minutes after the mage left and Fenris was already worrying and wondering what would happen.  Reassuring himself that the other wouldn't be gone long didn’t really help.  But he would.  He'd get the other one and then come back, and would get rid of the blood magic. All would be fine. 

 

A thought unexpectedly occurred to Fenris and he paused in the middle of folding a pile of bandages.  What if the mage sent him away once he had the other one, Karl, back? He supposed he _had_ been thinking of it anyways; leaving as soon as he was sure that the other could be trusted enough to help him get rid of his collar.  But it was different somehow, being kicked out opposed to leaving on his own. 

 

"You alright there Broody?"

 

Having already been keenly aware of the dwarf, Fenris didn't startle.  It had been obvious the other had something to say for a while.

 

"I'm not brooding"

 

The dwarf chuckled, a warm sound lacking any mockery. “Of course not.  And your preoccupation has nothing to do with how you guys were watching each other earlier today."

 

Fenris didn’t have to ask who he meant.  "We were not watching each other"

 

Only Fenris may have been.  And if he _had_ been, it would’ve only been a little bit. Of course he was going to keep an eye on the threat in the room.

 

Evidently the dwarf had taken his short response for the invitation it was not, as he then stood up and joined Fenris in the mindless work of cleaning around the clinic.  He was quiet, but the elf could tell there was more coming.    

 

Fenris stumbled while lining up some glass bottles that had been cleaned earlier that day, almost dropping one and barely catching it.  He probably shouldn’t have been on his feet so much, considering he was still weak, but sitting around doing nothing was killing him.  The mage had told him it was just his body recovering from the infection and subsequent lyrium poisoning, but that didn't make it any less irritating.  Mercifully the dwarf chose not to mention it.  Almost as if in exchange, he made his opinion on Fenris and the mage clear. 

 

"I've written enough stories to be able to classify the way you two were aware of each other.  And while I’ll admit that the romantic inside me wants to classify it as passionate longing, I don't know if it's quite there yet. Maybe for trust?" The dwarf nodded to himself, "Now I don't claim to know what's going on, but I've known of 'the Darktown healer' since he set up the clinic here, and I think it would be good for him to have a friend.  I can’t say I’ve known you for long either, but I’m almost positive that the two of you have that in common."

 

Who was this dwarf to act as if he knew them, as if he knew Fenris?  Even if it was true, and Fenris did wish to trust someone.  To stop running in a safe haven that could protect itself as well as him.  It would be wonderful, and the mage had been so kind to him already.   But there was the very problem.

 

"He's a mage." Not to mention that there was no such thing as a safe haven. Not for him.

 

The dwarf shrugged, then glanced at Fenris worriedly as the warrior let out a heavy breath. ”You should sit down."

 

"I don’t need to, I'm fine" He automatically responded, pride telling him to ignore the way his limbs had started to shake lightly.

 

"Well then do it for me won't you?  Looking up at you is making my neck ache.  For an elf you're quite tall."  The dwarf quipped

 

A compromise.  Fenris wasn't very familiar with them, but he knew one when he heard it.  Strange, that this one was made to benefit him so.  He took it anyways, sitting on the desk chair and pulling some long bandages towards him so he could roll them up.

 

"Thanks" The dwarf tipped his head.  ”Now, I don't know you, I can’t tell you what to think.  And while the healer doesn't really know me, I know him.  A Grey Warden apostate running a free clinic in Darktown tends to draw a lot of eyes.  So one thing I _can_ tell you about him is that he's remarkably transparent.  He’s not afraid to say what he thinks, and he follows up on his promises.  As long as you’re a patient here, he’s going to do everything he can to keep you safe.”

 

Fenris' hands slowed to a stop and he quietly admitted, "He seems kind, he does.  And he had been careful with me.  But I have spent years running, and he is a mage. It might be easier, if he didn't have magic."

 

"He wouldn't be the same, without magic"

 

Fenris had no response to this, and quiet permeated the clinic as they waited.  Despite this dwarf, _Varric_ speaking mostly of the trustworthiness of the mage, Fenris found it to be a comfortable silence.  As comfortable as it could be with the tense waiting in the background.

 

 

The silence was broken almost an hour later, and both Fenris and Varric leapt to their feet, weapon out and brands blazing.  But it was only the mage and Varric's companions who entered. 

 

Immediately Fenris could tell something had gone wrong.  The mage's face was drawn, his eyes red as if he'd been crying, and there was no additional member to the group.

 

He took a step forward, then flicked his gaze to the others.  The leader had a sad frown on her face, and she dipped her chin to Fenris.

 

"Here" Fenris’ mage hissed with something suspiciously like a sob, wrenching open a drawer and grabbing the papers within. ”There's your maps."

 

The other took the papers, hesitating. ”I'm really sorry for what happened, if there had been anything we could do.  I can’t believe, I didn’t know that the Templars here would…" She trailed off.

 

The mage snorted, "They’re the same here as they are everywhere.  Here, it's just, no one else cares." All the fight drained from the mage in a sigh and he turned away, heading towards his room in the back.  A pause. ”Still, thank you for your help, for not turning on me.  I wish you luck in the Deep Roads"

 

With that he was gone and Fenris was alone with the others.

 

"Hawke?" Varric asked tentatively

 

But Hawke shook her head, eyes flickering to another of her companions.  A mage, from the staff she wore.  With how alike she looked with the elder Hawke, Fenris would guess a sister.  Not that it truly mattered to the elf at the moment.  He was more worried about _his_ mage.

 

They left then without any prompting, and Fenris immediately headed to the back, ducking through the cuboarded room and stopping in the doorway.  Anders was sitting on the bed, his head in bloody hands and shoulders shaking.  He was weeping.

 

It was something Fenris had never encountered before, and it struck him deep inside, almost a physical pain with no visible wound.  He'd never seen a mage cry before.  Had it been Danarius or any of the mages in Teviniter, he’d have felt cruel satisfaction, that along with fear that that grief would turn into pain for him.  Here though, all Fenris could think of was that this was a man in incredible pain.  A man who had helped Fenris, healed him, shown him compassion.  Yet the elf had no idea what to do.  How did one  _help_ someone in pain? He only knew to mercy-kill.  This mage had taught him some things about healing without magic, but Danarius had only ever taught him pain.

 

"Mage?" Fenris ventured softly, "Are you- what happened?"

 

The mage let out a bitter laugh catching on a sob.  “Nothing that you wouldn't be happy about.  Just another mage who will never leave the Gallows"

 

"I don’t want-," Fenris finally moved towards the other, settling himself gently beside the mage on the cot.  Why was is so hard for him to put his words together? “It does not make me happy to see you in pain, whatever the reason."

 

Evidently this had been the wrong thing to say, as the mage broke into loud sobs.

 

He scrambled for some way to fix what he had broken.  While he had never had someone to share with, he had seen slaves hug each other as a form of comfort.  Hesitating, he attempted this, putting a hand on the mage's back, momentarily forgetting about his gauntlets.  He was reminded when there was a tug and the flimsy robe ripped on them, his hand automatically jerking back and tearing a little more.

 

"I'm sorry, I didn't-" _Fuck_ , he wasn't helping at all.

 

But the mage let out an almost hysterical laugh, and leaned into Fenris, pressing close.  Just as uncertain as he'd been so far, Fenris tentatively put his arm further around the other, keeping his claws a safe distance from coat.  Trying to ignore how the physical contact with his brands _didn’t_ hurt.

 

"They made him Tranquil." The mage spat through his tears "Even though he was harrowed.  They aren't supposed to make harrowed mages Tranquil."  He buried his face in Fenris’ armored chest. The elf forced himself to not flinch away from the touch while wishing himself more comfortable to lean on.  “He hadn't done anything wrong.  Neither of us did.  And I had been doing better before they took him away.  We weren’t doing anything wrong.”  Another sob. ”We just fell in love”

 

Tranquility was something Fenris knew of, but had only seen used a handful of times before.  It was the cruelest thing a magistar could do to a rival, and for this very reason used sparsely to avoid potentially promoting its use on oneself.  They were made slaves afterwards, kept for amusement and prolonged cruelty.  All mages feared Tranquillity, Fenris himself had seen that fear before Danarius while in the Imperium.  The monstrous part of him had been cruelly amused by it.  

 

Despite Fenris’ respect for the Templar order, he couldn’t imagine them acting any different towards Tranquil mages.  The thought of a tempered mage was a shamefully good one.  The thought of someone that this mage loved being made tempered so…

 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, unable to articulate anything better.

 

The touching, the vulnerable emotion shown by a mage, the prodding at that appalling hatred inside him.  The desire to give comfort, to a mage nonetheless.  It was all completely new to him.  But it was there, and Fenris had a long history in dealing with being unexpectedly thrown into new circumstances.  So he sat, outwardly calm and inwardly waiting, allowing the mage to take what he needed so long as it wasn’t more than he could give. 

 

“How can you stand this?” The mage mumbled into his chest.  “Don’t try to tell me you’ve spontaneously decided not to hate us.”

 

“I don’t.  Not you.”  He blurted, clenching his hands at his inability to articulate.  “I’ve always thought of Tranquility as something cruel” _something he wished upon those who had ruled him in Tevinter_ “I don’t want you Tranquil.   I’m uncomfortable,” He let out a sound of irritation.  That wasn’t the right word. “I’m… saddened? To hear that someone you love was subjected to that.”

 

The mage was quiet to this, and Fenris wondered how badly he had managed to screw things up.  He didn’t want to screw it up.  He wanted to help.  Even if he had no idea as to _why_.

 

He’d never hated Danarius, had loved him as much as a slave could.  The shameful part of him that had never stopped being a slave still loved him.  The feelings he had toward this mage were similar and yet different.  Impossible to class with his limited knowledge in relationships other than the one between a slave and his master.

 

“Thank you.” 

 

The words were mumbled, but in the silence they rang out like bells.

 

This mage was _completely_ different from Danarius.  From any mage Fenris had known. 

 

“Can I tell you about him?”  Was asked next, and the mage swung an arm around Fenris’ middle, pressing fully into the elf. 

 

No outward sign showed of how uncomfortable Fenris was with the amount of touch, but it wasn’t _bad_ per se.  It didn’t hurt.  And it seemed to be helping, so he could bear it.  Maybe even begin to enjoy it. Maybe. Probably not.

 

Not wanting to break the silence with his own gravelly voice, he just nodded, after a moment settling his chin on top of the mage’s head.

 

“He was sweet.  And he loved gardening. Loved plants, and the sun. Not that, not that we saw too much of it.”  The mage began haltingly, but soon words began to flow. “Had a couple of pots he kept in the window, just small ones, we weren’t allowed much.  But he took such great care of them.  Loved them.  Loved me.  Would tell me about the changes happening to the plants.  Show me the flowers as they began to bloom…”

 

It was comfortable.  Listening.  Fenris didn’t have to add anything to make it a conversation, and he found he enjoyed hearing about the man the mage had been in love with.  Love was a foreign thing.  Companionship was foreign.  This mage had once had both, and they sounded beautiful. 

 

There was an undercurrent in what he said that didn’t sound right, that was familiar to Fenris in a way he knew he’d have to examine later.  For now though, he just sat.  Leaned against the mage.  And listened.   


	7. Anders

Anders woke the next morning with a lethargic jerk, wondering where he'd run to that he'd be sleeping on such uncomfortable rocks.  Or metal.  It felt more like metal.  Or, actually, it felt like that escape attempt in which he'd worn a set of ill-fitting Templar armor.  This escape attempt and whatever armor he was wearing was just as rough.  Although it _was_ less disagreeable on his side open to the air.  And his helmet was a lot better.  The weight only lay on part of Anders’ head, warm and yielding to his hair and skull.   Letting a soft sigh escape, he snuggled further into the armor in an attempt to put off facing another day running from Templars.

 

The ground stiffened like it’d been shocked, and Anders swiftly came to the realization that he was laying on some _one_ rather than something.  At the same moment as the weight atop his head disappeared, there were two quickly curbed jabs into his side belaying his bedmate’s instinctual reaction to finding themself with a partner. 

 

’ ** _This one is not your partner.’_** Justice’s booming confusion instantly set Anders back in the right time zone. 

 

Fenris, he was lying on Fenris.  The mage hating warrior who’d put aside his hate to comfort Anders the night before. 

 

The reason for his need for comfort almost had him in tears again, however he managed to abstain, clenching his eyes tightly shut.  Fenris had been kind enough to let him sleep on him and trusting enough to fall asleep _on_ him, but that did not give the mage blanket permission to cuddle him.  Something that would definitely happen if he fell to tears again with someone even slightly sympathetic nearby.  With guarded movements he unwrapped himself from the warrior, attempting to discreetly wipe a hand across his face to brush away the tears.  By the amount of crusted salt on his face, he didn’t think he'd succeeded at all. 

 

“Thank-” He cut himself off with a cough, clearing his throat.  “Thank you.  I’m sorry, for, well, all that.  But thank you.” 

 

The flattening of his ears and ducked head spoke more of Fenris’ shyness than his small shrug did, and Anders wondered again at the man.  How he could be so shy about the mage showing his gratitude, then completely confident and outright belligerent in everything else.  Like Karl, but then again not like him at all.

 

Anders’ lover hadn’t been arrogant, definitely not.  He’d been confident though.  Sure of himself, and sure of Anders.  Creating beauty in the world they were stuck in, making the Circle someplace not so bad to be.  Not loved or agreed with, never that.  But wonderful, simply because it held Karl.  When the Templars moved Karl, Anders was sure it was a punishment of some kind.  One meant to drive them further into the spiraling depression many mages found themselves in.  Instead, all it did was cut the tether that kept Anders there.  A tether he would have never grown resentful of, no matter how short it was.  But now the tether was snipped, now Karl was gone forever. 

 

Anders pressed a hand to his eyes, pushing until constellations appeared behind his eyelids.  He had spent the whole night before weeping on Fenris.  He would not subject the warrior to that again.  Even if it had felt good to talk about Karl, as if the stories given made it seem like he was there with them.  A smile curling the edges of his lips, laughter in his eyes and a hand there for Anders to hold.  No cruel sun branded in the middle of his forehead, burning away all of their hopes and dreams.  Sealing them away in a once expressive face, now passive and uncaring.  Justice had gotten through to Karl momentarily, but the horrific image of Anders’ lover’s lifelessness would be seared into his memory forever.

 

 _’ **The clinic needs tending’**_ Justice prodded delicately, as always uncertain of what to do with the emotions flowing through Anders.  In the spirit's mind it had been unjust what happened to Karl, and though there was still anger that justice had not been served, it was also unjust that Anders leave people unhealed when he could change it.  Justice would be served for _all_ mages when they finished their manifesto and brought about change.  In the meantime there was work to do.

 

Deep down in thoughts he didn’t like to visit, Anders dreaded the day when Justice might decide such foreign feelings like grief and loss were hindrances rather than just confusing human emotions. 

 

Not that such would ever happen.  Justice was a friend.  Someone who had saved Anders life multiple times over, and traveled with him so that he’d never again be alone.  He respected Anders too much to take over like that.

 

Giving a twitch of his head like he was shaking off a fly, Anders turned to Fenris again.  His healer persona always made him more steady, whether or not he was shattered inside. 

 

“I’ll need to look at your side again, to make sure everything is healing well.  I apologize, I really should’ve checked it last night.” 

 

The warrior frowned, “You had reason not to.”

 

Grimacing, Anders shook his head.  “That’s no excuse.  Whatever is-” His voice hitched, “Whatever is going on with me doesn’t change the fact that you are my patient and need to be given priority as such.” 

 

Fenris seemed somewhat confused by this, but he obliged nonetheless, removing his breastplate with practiced movements. 

 

Anders shuffled into a better position, letting out a small groan as his body protested at sleeping on all that metal the night before.  Automatically raising a hand to heal himself, he hesitated, figuring he should warn Fenris first. 

 

“I’m going to soothe away my sleep aches first, just enough to get my body to forget it’s too old to be falling asleep like that.  If you want, I can soothe you too before checking your hip?  I can’t imagine I’m comfortable to sleep on.  Your neck must be killing you.” 

 

As if to test out his range of motion, Fenris tilted his head back and forth, a clear wince on his face as he did so.  Stilling, he stared at Anders with a furrowed brow for a few moments before nodding.

 

Glad to have that out of the way, Anders allowed healing magic to wash through himself, barely waiting for it to finish before he was reaching out to the warrior.  Alighting his hand on Fenris’ neck, he frowned at how tense the other was.  If Anders thought he could stand the amount of touching required, he’d tell Fenris he needed a massage.  That reminded of how much he’d had encroached on Fenris’ personal space the night before, and he healed out the aches as quick as possible before pulling away.  Was there nothing he had done right with the warrior thus far?  And now he’d need to trespass again in order to check his hip. 

 

“Go ahead,” Fenris muttered gruffly, breaking into Anders’ spiraling train of thought. 

 

Right.  Fenris was handling this better than he was.  Of course he was.

 

Determined to not let his distress show, Anders moved on, leaning down to check the recently infected lyrium lines.   They looked a lot better now, barely even a scar to show all of the digging he’d had to do.  There was no pain radiating from them as there was with the other lines, something that was extremely satisfying to the healer.  The amount of pain Fenris had to constantly be in from the lyrium was staggering.  But Anders had fixed that in the small lyrium patch him and Justice had placed there.  They’d did it with this small piece, they could do it everywhere else too.   It had been a worrying touch and go, but if Fenris let them help with the rest of the lines, they’d make sure to properly prepare.  There would be no reason for Fenris to be so weakened again. 

 

Had Anders been alone in trying to heal him, Fenris would’ve likely died from the infection.  Lucky for them both, Anders was a spirit healer, emphases on the _spirit_.  Even so, it had been a very taxing time. 

 

Getting rid of the offending piece of metal and cleaning up the wound had all been done without magic.  That had been simple.  It was the part _with_ magic that had made it hard.  Touching the lines from outside wasn’t so bad, but brushing up against the magic inside them?  That had been horrible.  The blood magic clinging to Fenris via the lyrium felt like boiling tar against Anders’ own magic, sticking as he tried to work around it.  He’d nearly thrown up at the feeling, the way it caressed him, whispering false promises that tasted like sour wine.  He would've too, if Justice hadn't taken over. The spirit was of course just as disturbed by the blood magic, but had shown it by becoming enraged, the blue glow crackling through the bedroom. That added another level of fear that Fenris would wake part way through and attack, but such had not come to pass. Just the steady undercurrent of rage as Justice muttered about the injustice done upon Fenris.

 

The broken lyrium had the blood magic lashing out at whatever it could touch, causing the warrior to whimper, crying out as he twisted in place. It had been unbearable for both healer and spirit, and they had frantically searched for a solution to the broken lines. Anders had been the one to initially if not seriously suggest adding more lyrium, while Justice had been the one to actually implement it. They'd located the purest lyrium they had, tested by Justice, then carefully laid it into Fenris' hip, all the while wishing they had someone to help hold the elf down, and while they were on impossible wishes, why not wish that they didn't have to do this to Fenris, or that it hadn't been done to him in the first place. Or that Karl was the person there to help him.

 

That sobering thought had Anders quickly finishing his examination and taking a step back from Fenris, clenching his jaw.

 

This was not helping him get his mind off of Karl.  Not that it was meant to do so, it would’ve just been kind of nice if he could lose himself so far into healing that the rest of the world disappeared.  With the challenge to healing that Fenris’ lyrium presented, it would’ve been the perfect place to do so.

 

“Your hip is doing fine.  The infection and cuts are completely gone, which makes me wonder about your healing speed.  Usually I make sure to leave enough natural healing to keep your body from forgetting how, which on a wound that size should’ve taken a couple days to disappear so completely.”  There, that was something he could focus on other than Karl.  He opened his mouth to continue along this vein of thought, but froze when he met Fenris’ gaze. 

 

All of a sudden he was back in the Circle, listening to one of the hundreds of times the Templars had discussed whether he was worth enough as a spirit healer to keep alive, examining him like he was nothing more than a curious bug, sometimes useful.  When his talents were all that he was good for, and if he hadn’t had them he’d been Tranquil or dead the very first time he ran away.  Had Fenris’ master ever done the same thing?  Placed the warrior’s life at the value of what he could do, what he could heal from?  Ha, of course they had.  Fenris had been a slave.  And Anders even unintentionally examining him like he was livestock would not help.  

 

“Sorry,” He murmured, lowering his gaze and slumping back onto the floor, barely any lower than the bed.  Justice lightly prodded at him in query, but Anders just pulled his knees up, put his head in his hands and sighed so that he wouldn’t cry. 

 

He loved Karl, fiercely and unendingly, and he grieved him with all his heart.  But it wasn’t only that. 

 

Anders knew nothing of love but the type he could sneak into the circle.  The love that flinched away from prying Templar eyes, the kind that spoke in hushed whispers, that bantered and laughed at the possibility of getting caught because they both knew that the punishment would be so much worse.  A love that knew there was a great possibility of the two of them being ripped apart, one or both killed. That was the love that had sustained Anders since the morning Karl had pulled Anders into an empty room and changed the path of their lives in a miserably halting voice that tried to be strong.  Told him that he was being transferred to the Gallows, and that he was leaving right away but he wanted, _needed_ to say goodbye, and please, _please_ wouldn’t Anders just hug him so that they could close their eyes and pretend everything was going to be okay when they both knew it wouldn’t.

 

That kind of love was what had been in the back of Anders mind these last months, grieving because it knew from the moment Gallows crossed Karl’s lips that they would not have a happy ending together.  That the future they had built in whispers would never be more than silent voices in empty corridors.  Now, with Karl dead, he was forced to admit it consciously.  There was no path in which he got a family and a bright tomorrow.  The moment as a child in which he’d burned down the barn and presented as a mage had ensured that. The moment the chantry declared mages something tainted, something to be feared sealed it.

 

“Mage?” A feather light touch brought him again out of his mind and he raised his head, immediately missing the gentle hand as it pulled away. 

 

“Yes?”  He prompted when it didn’t seem like the warrior would continue. 

 

The other shook his head. “I didn’t have anything to say.  You were gone, and I,” He ducked, clenching and unclenching his fists “I recognize what it looks like when one does not want to be where they have been taken.”

 

Fenris was awkward, evidently unpracticed in at least emotional social situations, uncertain of himself, and also somehow knew exactly what to say.  Even if Anders needed to parse out the exact meanings of some of his lines, the sentiment behind them was touching.  He wasn’t Pounce, wasn’t Karl, wasn’t any of the people he’d met and felt comfortable with over his life.  He was Fenris, and despite his hatred, Anders was infinitely glad that he was here.

 

“Thank you” He shook himself out and shakily stood, giving Fenris a half grin that didn’t meet his eyes.  The clinic needed to be opened.  It was another new day, the same as yesterday.  Just with a little less hope for him.

 

But not for Fenris, and Anders and Justice were of one mind on this.  Fenris was a freed slave, one who had gotten away from the chains and misery that nipped at his heals.  There was still hope for Fenris, and in that moment, when Anders finally realized if not accepted that he had no future, he knew that he would do everything in his power to make sure it never died.

 


	8. Fenris

The Bone Pit.  Fenris had heard it’s name mentioned a couple of times before, usually with an affix of swearing or briefly wet eyes, but he’d never understood why.  It was just a mine.  He'd never had cause to go to a mine before, but he understood the general basics of it, and they weren't that interesting.  At least, he _had_ thought it was just a mine, but that little misunderstanding had been nipped in the bud before he’d even had a chance to ask questions.  Now, after hours without break or rest, he was extremely aware of exactly why there were so many explicit affixes to the name. 

 

He’d been surprised earlier that morning when the mage had gotten up and opened the clinic as if all was normal.  In Fenris’ mind he could’ve slept a couple more hours before even making to get up, given all that had happened.  Usually the mage got up this early, yes, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a break the morning after his lover died.  Nevertheless, the mage was awake, set as if on a determined course as he worked on finishing everything Fenris and Varric hadn’t gotten done the night before. 

 

When the mage started to redo things already prepared, Fenris had decided that it was time for him to step in.  He'd just made to demand that the mage sit and rest when the first cries had reached them. 

 

Instantly the warrior had been on guard, brands flickering to life, the single point of relief on hip lost in the desire for a weapon.  Such wishes were doubled as he'd noticed the mage's version of being 'on guard'.  Instead of going for his staff, he was promptly grabbing bandages and ingredients, muttering explicitly under his breath.  Fenris hadn’t caught much, only ‘Bone Pit’, ‘recognize’ in a tone of unhappy exasperation, and a couple swears he’d never heard before. 

 

The doors to the clinic had slammed opened without even a knock, and the mage nearly ran into Fenris as they’d both moved.  The warriors attempts at defense were ignored in the face of the bloody people pouring into the clinic, and as the bleeding and crying men and women were brought in and lowered onto cots under the mage's glowing hands, Fenris came to a startling conclusion.  When considering all that freedom would bring that he knew he'd been unprepared for, he'd been woefully lax, because this, this hadn't even touched the list.  And so he was completely unequipped for being— _working_ , because it was impossible to just stand around doing nothing—in the clinic after one of the accidents at the Bone Pit.  Over the course of the next few hours this knowledge was reinforced, and he learned that there was no such thing as a minor accident in the Bone Pit.  It was either not worth a clinic, or filling it to the brim with dying miners and their families. 

 

And all throughout the grueling hours that followed, the mage did not once stop healing.  Not even to take a momentary break.  

 

Now, Fenris wasn’t fond of magic, nor fond of mages.  Not one bit.  But he had been slapped in the face the night before with the realization that this mage was a man, and now that knowledge hung over his head like a bright light always just inside his peripheral vision.  Even with that knowledge though, he’d have felt only indifference if not for the kind of man he was.  A really, startlingly good one.  One who healed everyone and anyone who needed it, downing lyrium potions until he was nearly falling over in exhaustion and putting his own health far behind the health of others.  Fenris was still filled with hatred towards all things arcane, but in the face of all he'd seen, how could there be something so negative towards this mage?

 

The mage stood up from the miner he’d been working on for the past couple of hours straight, and Fenris stepped in before he could go to another, grabbing his arm and physically bringing him to a stop.

 

“Huh? Fenris, what- Is there something wrong?”

 

“There is much wrong in the world, though in this case it's the lack of care you're allotting yourself.  You need to sleep.”  Fenris took a step closer, steadying the mage when he swayed.  “You’re harming yourself.” _While trying to help others.  A_ mage. _How did that happen?_

 

“I can’t sleep, there are still patients that need healing.”  His eyes drifted towards one of the other miners and he moved against Fenris as if he’d already forgotten the elf was holding him up.

 

“ _No._ ” Fenris interrupted before the man’s attention could shift too far.  “You _will_ sleep.  You’ve healed everyone enough that they will not die, and Lirene and I are here to take care of the rest.  Now you need to see to yourself.”

 

“I have to, there’s so much left to be done.”  Fenris fancied he almost saw a blue sheen in the mage’s eyes as he demanded this, a new well of strength tapped into for an instant of purpose before it was lost to the bleakness that had settled over the mage.  Putting that into the back of his mind to think about later, he moved on.

 

Of course he wasn’t going to listen to reason.  He was a _mage_.  What else had Fenris expected?  With this remembrance, Fenris steadied his grip on the man’s arm and began pulling him bodily to the backroom, ignoring his stumbling protests.  He made it into the bedroom before the mage finally gained enough coherence to stop him. 

 

“Fenris, I can’t stop, there are people out there who still need me.”  He protested weakly, staring up at the warrior in a way that somehow made him—a _mage—_ seem harmless, vulnerable. 

 

Fenris licked his lips, biting on the lower one as he tried to figure out what to say.  "You've been pestering me about taking care of myself, is it not hypocritical that you don't do the same?"

 

The mage's mouth snapped open like he had a quick reply ready, but closed again without a noise , eyes darting around the room.  There wasn't a valid response, they both already knew that, and he had no idea why the mage was looking for one.  Shouldn't he be looking for ways to get others to do his work for him?  Forcing them if they disagreed?

 

"Sleep" Fenris repeated, at a loss to anything else.

 

Thankfully, because he truly had no idea what else to do, the mage caved, sitting down on the bed.  He stared at his feet for a few moments in the awkward silence, then grimaced and nodded.  "Just promise that you'll wake me when I start screaming.  It'll frighten the patients, and we don't need that now."

 

The warrior winced, sympathetic in his understanding, if not in the mage's reasoning.  How many times had he closed his eyes to rest only to be confronted by a reality where he hadn't managed to get away?  Where he was still the doting pet he had once been; eared he still was?  Of course this man would fear falling asleep to his dead lover, to the darkspawn who visited him and woke them both up in the middle of the night.  The night before they had slept through, but the mage still needed more.

 

Rather than saying any of this, Fenris just nodded, taking a step back towards the doorway.  "If not, I'll wake you in a couple hours.  Sleep well"

 

He waited the couple seconds it took the mage to take his boots off and lay down.  Then his eyes closed and Fenris left back into the clinic, resolving to always keep an eye on the small doorway to the back while the other was sleeping.  He would rather stay with the other while there were so many people about, but he had known the only way he'd get the other to sleep was if Fenris and Lirene were both working.  While Fenris didn't know much, he could help here and there, and that was better than nothing.

 

 

It was a couple hours later before he realized what the exact ramifications of his actions were.  Not the ones leading him to heal people instead of the mage, those he already knew and understood. No, instead it was the ones that had him constantly glancing towards the back, cataloguing the people in the clinic and making sure he knew where they all were, all in an effort to keep the mage safe.  Had he not been a bodyguard to a mage all his life, and was that not exactly what he was doing now?  Bandaging a miner’s leg in the forefront of his mind, yet always completely aware of the mage and any threats to the other's life.  Was this Fenris merely falling back into the cursed routine he'd been taught?  _No,_ he glared at the bandage, perhaps tugging on it a touch too roughly.  With a muttered apology, he pushed away the thought, refusing to believe it.

 

He had been chained to Danarius through a false love that had seemed so real at the time.  His chains to this mage, they didn't feel like chains either, but in a different way.  A different relationship, a warmer, two sided one.  Were these the chains, no, _bonds_ of friendship?  Tethers to a fellow sentient being that, perhaps, went both ways?

 

What did the mage consider him anyway, a slave?  A patient?  A _friend_?  

 

Not a slave, he was positive of that.  Everything that had been asked of him had been exactly that.  Asked, requested.  Small things mostly, for help in healing, in preparing for the next day.  Fenris’ own sense of duty guided him in doing other larger duties which the mage had never asked.  The elf hadn’t been treated like any other patient either.  Fenris had seen the mage with others, and while he was compassionate, caring, and everything he was to Fenris, there was a level of—dare he even think it—personal nature to the mage's treatment of the elf.  Was that friendship?  Born perhaps, from the mage's selfless nature in which he took Fenris in and helped him.  From the effort the warrior had made in living alongside a user of the arcane arts.  A two way street, instead of one that befitted only one person

 

It was incredible, to have that idea.  And not only because the man was a mage, but because Fenris hadn't known _anyone_ like that.  That someone would help a person, an _elf_ they didn't even know, bring them into their own home, treat them as a friend, and all without any price.  While Fenris had originally feared  it was such, and a part of him still did, he had begun to believe that the mage truly did not see him as an object to gain power from.  That there was a level of respect between the two of them.

 

And that, that was huge.  Fenris had spoken at the mage in anger, had hissed and grew angry, and the mage hadn't retaliated.  Fenris had hesitatingly tried to offer comfort, and the mage had showed him vulnerability.  Fenris had been in pain, and the mage had healed him.  That implied a level of respect, didn’t it?  Kindness had to come with respect.  No one would continue to help a person they didn't respect. 

 

A soft groan brought Fenris' attention back down to the miner and he realized that he had paused in the middle of wrapping.  Promptly going back to it, he cursed his wandering attention.  Had he been more learned he'd have been able to do it without thinking, but as it was there was much he didn’t know.  And he did actually want to know, he decided as he finished tying the cloth.  It was satisfying, healing instead of harming.  Not forever, but to have that ability...

 

"Thank you Master Elf" the voice had Fenris whipping around in surprise.

 

The miner’s wife sat next to him, cradling the unconscious man's hand as she watched Fenris gratefully.

 

"I did little, the mage healed him" he corrected, glancing again at the wrapped leg. 

 

Two hours ago it had been hanging off by tendons and a shattered bone barely clinging on.  The mage had healed it enough that the man wouldn't lose it, then moved on, trying to visit every patient before he passed out.  Lirene and Fenris followed doing what they could, though he freely admitted that the woman was of more use than him.  But he didn't _need_ to be of use.  Well, for himself yes, it gave him a sense of purpose to be useful and knowledgeable, but not for anyone else.  His value was measured by himself, and himself alone.  Was that not a part of what freedom meant?

 

"Anders saved his leg and his life, but you're here helping too." She bit her lip, blinking rapidly as she looked back at the miner.  "We've been here far too many times.  Joffrey on a cot after the healer has spent hours bringing him back from the brink of death.  Lirene aids when she can, but I've never seen someone else helping Anders."  She looked back up at Fenris, a light and sorrowful smile on her face.  "He needs someone to be there for him.  Elsewise I'm afraid we're going to come here one day and he'll be dead.  Have run himself dry healing us.  It’s selfish, I’ll freely say it, but then where would we be?"

 

She looked away again, and Fenris stared, trying to figure out how to respond.  It seemed as though everyone wanted this mage to have a friend, and everyone thought him perfect for the task.  Even Fenris was perhaps coming to believe it.

 

"You trust him then? Even as a free mage." He prodded, wondering what someone who’d grown up outside of Tevinter thought.  It wouldn’t make sense for her to be blindly foolish, not with the things he'd heard people say about mages here in the south, so she must have originally had a reason.

 

Wariness instantly came over the lady, untrained at hiding it.  "Aye, he's a mage, yes.  But all of Darktown owes him our lives many times over.  He's not been here long, but he's earned all of our trust and loyalty."

 

Instantly Fenris was shaking his head.  “I didn’t, I don’t mean to demean his work here, I just.  When you first visited him here, as an apostate in a rundown clinic, how did you decide to trust him?”

 

A soft sad noise escaped the woman’s lips and sympathy chased the mistrustfulness from her face.  “Oh Master Elf, the first time we came here was right after a group of spiders had made their home in the mine.  My husband was bitten, poisoned and dying.  We had no money to pay for medicine, the chantry wouldn’t help us, and any other healer of the talent we needed was hidden away in the Gallows.  Things couldn’t get any worse, so the healer was the only choice I had.” Then the dismay was chased away by a smile.  “I’ve seen him use magic, I’ve seen him when he’s, not all there.  But he’s lived up to every bit of trust I’ve put in him, that we’ve _all_ put in him.  You know you can trust someone when you go to them with nothing, begging for help, and they ask for nothing, just, giving you what you need. And they keep doing it, again and again, whenever you ask."

 

He nodded slowly, a contemplative frown on his face.  He hadn’t had a chance to lose hope.  There had been the anger at the slavers, the disappointment that Anso hadn’t managed to find anyone in time, and the thrill of battle.  Pain, and then he’d ended up in the mage’s hands.  If he had had that chance, that choice, he wouldn’t gone to the clinic.  Wouldn’t have even known how to get to it in the first place, still didn’t really know where they were except in Darktown.  That choice had been made for him, and the mage had done his best to make sure almost every other choice was his.  He would’ve died because of the hatred buried deep in his soul, but hadn’t he despised its presence since getting away?  Used it, yes.  But hated it, wanted to free of the consuming fear and fire that reigned his thoughts.  It would fester and grow if left alone, but he wasn’t going to leave it alone.  He was going to trust this mage.  Carefully, yes.  An exception rather than the rule, but trust him nonetheless.  At least a bit.

 

This decision left him feeling a little floaty, and he politely excused himself, ignoring the knowing look in the woman’s eyes as he headed into the back room.

 

In the doorway Fenris paused, taking a second to examine the mage.  Completely dead to the world, but still looking like he hadn't slept in days.  Hollow even after the four hour nap.  Perhaps he should let him sleep longer. 

 

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind before he was tossing it.  He’d said he’d wake the other in a couple hours, and a couple hours had passed.  He wasn’t a liar, and he wouldn’t start being one now.  Fenris would just have to bully the mage into resting a little longer afterwards. 

 

Crossing the room quietly, he crouched in front of the other, deciding how to wake him. 

 

“Mage" he whispered, and that was enough for the other, eyes flying open and a bright glow appearing at his hands. 

 

Despite his earlier resolution, Fenris didn’t manage not to flinch.  He was able to suppress the automatic reaction of his brands however, saving himself a little bit of pain.  But even that would be soon gone, if this mage held up his promise.

 

“Huh? What's- oh, good morning Fenris.  Why are you awake this early?" Then the confusion turned to realization and his face fell, the lights going out.  "Right.  Thanks.  I guess I need to get up now."

 

“No.  What you need, Anders” He began, amusement pooling in him at the mage’s surprised jolt.  “Is to sleep more.  Since we both know you’re too stubborn to do such a thing, I think we should settle on a compromise instead, just for today.  Yes?”

 

Anders blinked at him a couple times before shrugging, seemingly accepting whatever had gotten the warrior to use his name.  “A compromise” He repeated, sounding it out as if there were secrets hidden in the words.  When that gave him nothing, he tilted his head up at Fenris. “Alright, I guess so.  What do you have in mind?”

 


	9. Anders

 In a very unusual aftermath to a Bone Pit incident, what remained of the day was slow.  Even more unusual was that, rather than dragging himself through the door in a haze of exhaustion, when Anders went to douse the lantern he could actually think.  It was a nice chance, and definitely one he wanted to experience again. 

 

Anders and Fenris had indeed ended up coming to a compromise, one that had him doing nothing but menial tasks for the rest of the day while the warrior helped the patients that came in.  Unless magic was needed that was.  Still though, the speed at which Fenris learned was truly incredible.  Anders had spoken to him here and there when healing time had permitted, and now the other seemed almost natural as a healer.  There were still many things he had to ask Anders for help with, whether it was about herbs, settings, or potions, but the majority of the few people in and out were taken care of without him having to step in.

 

It was, well, Anders wasn't exactly sure what it was.  He was happy, definitely, to have someone who could and would help him.  Lirene was a blessing, but she had her store to take care of so couldn't be there all that often, only when Anders so desperately needed help that he sent a runner to get her.  Fenris had been staying with him a short time, but helped wherever he could, giving Anders a much needed break.  Said break was still taken up by all the other things needing to be done, but it was still lovely to have that freedom of time. 

 

And Fenris was good at it.  Sure, his bedside manner could use some work, but he splinted broken bones and mixed and mashed basic herb poultices like he'd been doing it all his life.  Fact was, Fenris was amazing to have in the clinic, and all Anders could think about as he cleaned was that he'd be leaving soon.  Fenris was healed from the attack and the infection, so the only reason he had to stay was for Anders to heal his brands.  And even that they hadn't spoken about, what with, Karl, and all that had happened.  So it was amazing having the elf around, he just didn’t want him to leave.  Yet considering his past, there really wasn’t much Anders could do to try and persuade him to stay.

 

**_‘This is not productive, and not your choice.  The warrior will not stay because he is angry, he will stay because he is doing just work.  See how he smiles when he helps someone?’_ **

****

Anders paused in washing some blooded sheets, looking over to where Fenris was treating a young girl who had come in after a nasty fall from a tree.  He'd already bound her broken arm and was now finishing up slathering healing potion on her many scrapes.  Anders had been called over briefly to heal the bone, and he'd done so enough that only a binding would be necessary.  Fenris had been tense as always when he used his magic.  Now though, Anders did notice the small but satisfied smile on the warrior’s face as he stood, instructing her and her mother on how to treat her arm so it'd heal well.

 

' _He's happy, but that's not enough for him to stay.  He was a slave in Tevinter, he won't want to stay with a_ mage _no matter how much he likes the work._ '

 

’ ** _You do not think beyond your sorrow.  There has been great injustice done to him, but he is still just.  Have you yourself not told me many times that mortal minds do not work in 'black and white' terms?  Speak to him.  Your thoughts now are only of grief for Karl, but the injustice done to him will not cripple us when we have so much left to do.'_**  Justice murmured, the firmness in their voice juxtaposing the quiet tone.

 

Anders winced.  It was harsh, but also he supposed true.  He’d always found it easy to get lost in his own mind, and the year in which he'd been put in solitary had only made it worse.  Time alone meant time spent with demons.  Not the ones of the fade, nor the spirit he carried with him everywhere he went, but his own burdens of the past, abandonments which leached into his present and future.

 

"Thank you healer"

 

Starting, Anders looked up to see Elaine—one of the few female workers—beside him, her husband holding their daughter's hand. 

 

He mirrored her soft smile. "You know I'm always here when needed"

 

"And it’s far too often that you’re always needed.  We really do appreciate everything you do for us." She glanced at her husband and Anders knew she was thinking about when he'd been brought in months before missing an arm, rather than the gash she had had in her side mere hours earlier.

 

"I'm just glad I can help." He replied, awkward at receiving gratitude no matter how often he got it.  How did one graciously receive thanks while not believing he’d ever done enough?

 

There was so much he hadn't accomplished, hadn't done.  He hadn't managed to help the other mages, he hadn't managed to help Karl.  One after another failed accomplishment.  The personal ones, piling up to oppose the lives he knew he saved here in Darktown.

 

 ** _’We will though.  We will bring justice to all mages.  What happened to Karl will be stopped’_** The tone had an edge to it that spoke of uncertain desire to bring relief vying for attention with the greater desire to see a purpose done.

 

 _’Thanks_ ’ Justice didn't really understand, but the attempt gave Anders the comfort the words could not. 

 

The small trio left, the little girl leaving a wrapped loaf of bread and a stuttered thanks behind her. 

 

At this point his protests were redundant.  Despite the amount of times he had insisted he didn’t need any payment, there was already a small pile of gifts that had only grown throughout the day as people recovered enough to leave.  As was regular, some of it he would give to more patients that came in, but forethought had him separating an amount for Fenris and himself.  Just because he could live on scraps if it meant others got what they needed, didn’t mean Fenris had to as well.  The warrior had freed himself from slavery, had fought for himself and won.  Fenris deserved nothing but luxury at this point.  Luxury that couldn’t be found here.

 

But that was edging back into depressing territory, which had Justice prodding at him, so the train of thought was cut at the base.  Glancing around at everything that still had to be done, he decided to put it all off. He’d talk to the warrior about plans later. 

 

 

Later brushed past the afternoon, through the evening, stayed silent during their meal, and dropped right to sleep as soon as he laid down.  When it did come rather abruptly the next morning—or a portion of it at least—it wasn’t even Anders who brought it up. 

 

“There’s a mansion in Hightown that my former master was at the night the slavers almost killed me.” Fenris blurted out over the freshly warmed bread with the luxury of honey that was their breakfast. ”I’m sure he’s gone now, but I want to go check.  Just in case he’s still there.  I need to kill him.”

 

Surprise at the topic had him almost choking on his bread, and he put it down quickly.  Honey was such an indulgence that he refused to let it be wasted on shock.  Fenris had avoided talking about his former master like the reminder might tempt Anders into trying to proclaim some dominance over him.  Come to think, that may have actually been the case.  But that was a depressing thought for another never.  Though, he supposed that Fenris was talking about him now said good things, right?

 

"Do you want my help? If he’s still there or left any traps, it might not be the best idea to go on your own." He came to a halt, belatedly figuring out that such had been the point.  “Which is why you told me.”

 

Fenris shrugged, looking awkward and fed up with his awkwardness. “Yes.  Danarius is likely to have left behind many nasty surprises.  I imagine looters might’ve visited the place already, depending on how abandoned he left it, but I’m sure there’s still many magical traps.  With those especially your help would be greatly appreciated."

 

"Of course I'll help.  Whatever you need." The healer winced.  Well that hadn't come out needy at all.

 

Yes, alright, he really wanted Fenris to stay with him, to be his friend, but he needn’t be so pathetic about it.  Despite the fact that the only thing that had kept Anders going over the past months was the thought of Karl, and that he was pretty sure the only reason he was making it now was because he had Fenris. 

 

After a short period of silence he glanced up to find Fenris staring at him, head tilted so far to the side it looked almost comical.  At their eyes meeting the warrior blinked and looked away, head tilting back where it should be.

 

"Thank you." Fenris said slowly and sincerely, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table and changing the subject. “I'll need a sword first though.  I doubt mine will still be there.”

 

Grateful for the lack of attention drawn to his unintentional honesty, Anders pursed his lips in thought.  He'd suggest going out and waiting until bandits attacked, killing them and then looting a sword, but he'd rather not take Fenris out when he was helpl-right.  He could stick his hand into people's chests and rip out their hearts.

 

"We could make a day trip out to Sundermount? I need to pick some more herbs anyways, and if bandits attack us on the road we can loot a sword off of them?" He suggested

 

The idea of having a physical weapon again seemed to relax Fenris.  “You go out on your own usually?"

 

Anders gave an affirmation, wondering where the other was going with this.  But he said nothing more to that train of thought, instead taking another careful bite of bread before inquiring on the best time to go.

 

"Today I think, after we finish breakfast would be best.  With the incident yesterday the miners won't be in for a couple of days at most, so there's no chance of another happening today or tomorrow.  I'll have to check up on those who stayed overnight, but other than that we should be good to go out for a few hours." Anders decided, looking down at his bread and wondering if he should finish it or go out now to check on his patients.

 

One had almost lost his arm, and the other had simply been too exhausted to go far.  The former would need a little more healing, while the latter would be fine to go.  The mage also thought that one of their partner had stayed over, but he’d honestly not been paying enough attention to be sure of it.  The lack of attention really wasn’t good, but then again, Templars were so loud one would have to be deaf or completely focused to not hear them coming.

 

Concluding that it would be easiest to eat on the way, Anders stood, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm, quickly removed.

 

"Where are you going?” Fenris asked, ducking his head slightly.   

 

"I'm going to go check on the miners.  We can leave quicker then and I'll eat on the way." He replied, shuffling in place before reminding himself there was no reason to be awkward.

 

"You should eat now, the bread will be stale if you wait." Fenris ordered. “I've seen and shared your meals, I know this is a delicacy compared to what you usually eat, so you should have it while it’s still nice"

 

"I don't like to leave the clinic for too long though.  It's quicker if I eat later" he protested

 

For a moment it looked as though Fenris wasn't going to argue further, but then a stubborn look crossed his face and he straightened, meeting Anders eyes directly. “No.  I will check on the miners then, and you eat."

 

"What? No, you aren't finished eating." Anders exclaimed, holding out a hand as if to prevent the warrior from leaving.

 

But Fenris just smirked. “What's the difference then Anders? Why should I finish eating and you can't?"

 

Anders opened his mouth to say, something, but stopped, thrown by the look on the warrior 's face.  He was challenging the healer, and to anyone who hadn't seen him scared, he would look the picture of confidence.  As it was however, Anders could see small signs belaying the warrior's courage.  The tapping fingers, a minute tremble bouncing his knee.  Despite the fact the he was trying to get Anders to take time for himself, Fenris _was_ scared of ordering the healer like this.  With his magical fisting trick, perhaps not scared of what Anders could do, but rather that the amount of trust the healer knew he'd placed in him was misplaced.

 

 ** _’We have been nothing but just to him, why would he fear us?_** ‘ Confusion shook Justice, pulling from silence in the back of Anders' mind.

 

It was unfortunately easy to have an answer for the spirit.  ‘ _Mages have likely been the cause of most of the injustices in his life.  Add that and the fact he's telling me to do something, of course he's scared.  Or wary, I guess.  Wary that I'm the same as them, and have just been pretending to be different.  There were Templars like that.’_

 

 ** _‘Wary.  We have helped him.  He should not fear us. ’_** Justice grumbled, proving once again that for how insightful the spirit could be, they wer still extremely unlearned in the intricacies of the human—or elven—mind.

 

Wary.  Yes, that seemed more likely.  Though the lessened fear was probably because of how he acted after losing Karl more than anything else.  Either way, Fenris had won this one.

 

"Alright" he said, sitting back down with a thump and picking up his bread.  Pretending not to notice how Fenris relaxed at the easy acceptance he added, "Should we try and contact Hawke? He might be able to help us when we go to the mansion."

 

"Yes.  I’d rather not involve too many people, but a small group would be better than just us.  Though, I don't have anything to pay them with." Fenris trailed off, frowning.

 

"Tell you what," Anders said after swallowing another glorious mouthful of bread and honey, and wondering why again he’d argued against this.  "Why don't you make potions with the herbs you pick and you can pay them with those?”

 

“We aren’t picking them for the clinic?  You need more potions.” Fenris pointed out, then his eyes widened and his cheeks boasted the faintest red tinge.  “Oh, the plants you pick are for your clinic, and the ones I pick are for paying Hawke.”

 

“Now you’ve got it.” Anders grinned, an expression uncertainty mirrored by the warrior.  “It’ll be fun.”

 

The conversation didn’t clear up anything about what was happening next, about where and when Fenris was leaving, or how they were going to heal his brands.  But still, the prospect of spending half the day out in nature with a mostly-friendly warrior at his side was one Anders wasn’t surprised to find he was looking forward to.  After the sorrow and tension of the previous days, it was wonderful to have something positive ahead.  The outing wouldn’t fix everything, but should all go well it was a big step forward in helping Fenris, and that was a continuous goal he _would_ accomplish, one way or another.

 

And the honey was really good.


	10. Fenris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has gore and graphic descriptions of violence, so if you want to skip that part, read up to the * mark, and then again after the ** mark. It shouldn't be too bad, but I thought I'd warn for it anyways. Also, fight scenes? Holy crap those are hard. So forgive me if it's not very good. 
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos, enjoy!

The mage was unlike any other user of the arcane arts Fenris had ever met.  Unlike any other _man_ he'd ever met, and so predictably the morning had been one surprise after another.  In reality there had only been a couple, but with their enormity it'd felt like so much more. 

 

Fenris had been wanting to go check out the mansion since he’d realized Danarius must be there, but had been too wounded and too alone.  So with all else the mage had done for him without prompting, Fenris had finally asked for help, and had been granted it.  There was of course still the issue of the lack of sword, but he was pretty sure he'd be able to get one.  There was no shortage of bandits waiting to take advantage of all who walked by, and some of them had to be wielding a two handed sword.

 

Riding high on the close possibility of confronting his master--though there was still much doubt that he'd even be in the city anymore--Fenris had told, _ordered_ Anders to do something, and though he'd initially protested, he'd also caved.  Sure, it had been in favor of the mage's health, but when Fenris had realized he intended to leave the wonderful breakfast they were having, there had been a flashed memory of the warrior being forced to do the same thing with far more meager fare, and he'd grown angry, insisting that the other finish the best meal they'd had since Fenris had arrived.  Afterwards he'd been wary in a manner he thought perfectly understandable, but to no avail.  No pain came from him having the audacity to order the mage, even if it had been wrapped in a suggestion.

 

Now, shadowing Anders as he looked after the last two patients from the day before, Fenris was eager to find out what else he could do.  Not to make Anders' life harder, from what he'd seen it wasn't exactly pleasant in the first place, but as something like a trial run to being free.  Speaking to people while his hindbrain was continuously screaming at him to move on was not a good basis on how to converse and act as a free elf.  Here it was quieter, wary still, but quieter nonetheless.  In the surprising calm other emotions he'd only had momentary time for perked up, and he found he was excited to leave Kirkwall with Anders.  They'd be collecting plants and then Anders would be teaching him how to make potions for healing.  Teaching him a new skill, one that nurtured and took away pain.  It would be a wonderful skill to have when he split ways with the mage, and even a good skill to have while with him. Already it felt good to help people, how much better would it be when the very potions he used were from his own hands? An additional layer of security for himself, and a new way to bribe people into keeping their silence. The loyalty he'd seen displayed towards Anders assured Fenris of that.  

 

"Alright, I think you're good to go then" Anders' voice made him flinch and he belatedly realized how far his mind had wandered. 

 

Thankfully the mage and the patient didn’t look like they’d noticed, the latter standing with the help of a shorter man who'd slept over with him.  Even still, Fenris paid little more attention as they collected themselves and left, shared well wishes called behind them.  Because of Anders' main calling they felt more like healing magic than another mage's might, but they were still obviously different, flattened somehow, though Fenris didn't know better how to describe it.  

 

 

A couple locking wards later and the two of them were also leaving, Fenris rubbing his arms absentmindedly at the prickling from Anders magic. It didn't have the slickness of blood magic, but even creation and restoration magic like wards weren't the same as the cool balm of healing.

 

As they walked Anders described the plants they would be looking for, and Fenris was content to listen while mapping out their path out of the city.  Darktown, Fenris had already grasped that, but it was interesting--and helpful--to know exactly where. 

 

His nose wrinkled at the smell.  Really, could Anders have chosen a worse part of Kirkwall to be in?  That thought brought another more sobering one, as he realized that no, he couldn’t’ve, considering he was a mage in a place where they were forbidden.  That thought was too deep in the direction of controversy on mage rights, so Fenris brushed it off for later, focusing back on Anders’ voice. 

 

When they actually got out from what Fenris was quickly realizing was a very oppressive city, Anders lapsed into silence that Fenris saw no reason to break.  It was a beautiful day, clear skies and fresh air softly blowing around tall grasses and trees.  Something Fenris wouldn’t’ve had the chance to enjoy as a slave, and he readily basked in it now.

 

 

"What will you do if he's not there?" The mage was the first one to break the silence for conversation, an hour and some later.

 

Careful of his gauntlets as he stripped leaves from their stems, Fenris tilted his head, slowly gathering his thoughts, debating what to tell the mage and what to leave for himself.  Nothing he planned was detrimental to the other, in fact there was very little he _had_ planned, but there was no gaurentee Anders was the same, or wouldn't change his mind.  

 

"Move in, probably. The mansion is positioned well in relation to your clinic and exits from Kirkwall, and my living there will be a challenge to Danarius.  I will no longer have to impose on you either." He grimaced.  The thought of owing anyone anything was not a good one.  With the work he'd done in the clinic some of the debt from his imposition was paid, but he had little idea of how to quantify it.

 

"Fenris, I run a free clinic, I let people stay as long as they need. You're not imposing."

 

"As long as they need, yet I do not _need_ to stay any longer, and have not for a while.  And then there is also the blood magic in my brands" This had his grimace deepening, and one of the leaves he was supposed to be delicately collecting tore, green liquid welling up where the stem had broken.  "I will owe you, and working in the clinic will pay it back."

 

Anders let out a sigh, but didn't dispute the topic further.  Satisfied that the other was going to leave it, Fenris went back to rhythmically stripping the plant of as many leaves as he could without killing it.  That had been something the mage had been very clear on.  He used these places for their herbs often, and if the plants died, he'd lose the area as a resource.  

 

"Besides that, I think I, _enjoy_ working with you.  You don't treat me like the mages I've known, like I'm a slave or somehow lower.  I'm an equal in your clinic, and the people who come in don't fear me.  Well, they do, but only at first." He amended, thinking of how some people had shrunk back upon seeing the lyrium branded elf in heavy armor. “Other than that, I have no real plans."

 

"Freedom is a hard thing to know what to do with" Anders agreed, and Fenris narrowed his eyes.

 

He knew that Anders had been caged in a circle, and through tales of Karl knew something about them, but not much.  The circles in Tevinter had been a complete farce, but from what Fenris had heard of circles elsewhere he'd admired them, thought that they were a wonderful way to keep people safe from mages.  He still thought that, to an extent.  He couldn't completely buy into the idea anymore however, considering this mage.  This one outlier who made him question so.

 

"You said being with Karl made you stop attempting to escape," he began, choosing his words carefully to avoid any misunderstandings. “So you'd tried to escape before.  What, where were you trying to go?  And how'd you finally get away?  The clinic is months old at least."

 

Sorrow passed over Anders face, and he slowed in picking his flowers, curling and uncurling one hand.

 

"I don't know.  I'd only ever lived in the Anderfells, that was 'til I was 12, and I guess I would've gone back.  Or at least tried to.  I didn't really have any plans past getting away from the Templars." He admitted, discarding a flower that had been semi eaten by some kind of bug. “And as for how I ended up getting away, I wouldn't have been able to if the Wardens hadn't conscripted me.  I mean, I still need to hide when the Templars raid Darktown and my clinic, so I'm never going to be as free as I was before my magic showed, but with the Warden Commander's help I am as free as I can get, with it.”

 

Fenris moved to another plant, slowly digesting the information.  Like him, Anders was on the run, but unlike him, Anders wouldn't be able to kill limited pursuers, not while the Templars of Kirkwall continued their work.  It was strange being of two minds on something Fenris had previously take for granted as all good, so he shied away from the wonder.  Anders was the exception, not the rule.  

 

Turning Anders' initial question back on him, Fenris continued their conversation.  "What will you do now?"

 

The mage laughed bitterly, “What else is there for me to do?  Stay here.  Work at the clinic.  Continuing working on the manifesto I started.  Try and build towards freedom for mages."

 

That had Fenris stiffening, and he questioned, "Are you sure that's a good idea?" Anders jerked up and the elf held out a hand to prevent the angry tirade he could sense coming. “I didn't, I mean.  I agree that you deserve freedom, you are a good person, I've seen that even in the short time I've known you, but the rest of the mages? I can only think of Tevinter and the mages there.  The blood mages and slavers I've come across since running.  You have not succumbed to demons, but there are many who will."

 

"And many who only do so because the Templars force them to it or suicide." Anders fired back after a moment in which he almost looked, sad? "Because they're thrown into harrowing without any preparation, or because the only other choice is to be raped or tortured.  The circles are corrupt, no better than slavery in an outwardly gilded cage."

 

Fenris stopped, clenching his fist and reminding himself that while Anders had never been a slave he'd also never been in the circles.  He doubted they were all as bad as slavery, but even with room for exaggeration they sounded unpleasant.

 

"Had I not seen your scars or heard your tales I would say you know nothing of slavery, but Anders, you still don't understand the corruption and destruction mages can bring when unchecked.  They _cannot_ be allowed to just run free.  There's too much power and too much temptation to use it for ill." Fenris shook his head, trying to keep calm through the conversation while memories flashed through his mind.

 

Slaves falling when their blood became more valuable than the work they could do.  Abominations tearing themselves out from the skin of mages who gave into the fear of Danarius and magisters like him.  Magic crackling cruelly and mages laughing as Fenris screamed.  Casual conversation as unlucky elven passerbys bled out on the group or prostrated themselves for fear of it. 

 

"So you _do_ think I should be locked up." The tone was quiet, a breath punched out before it could fully take in air.  Fenris looked up surprised, because he had said no such thing, but the mage, the _mage_ continued before he could clarify his generalization. “That I shouldn't be allowed the freedom to _help_ people just for being born a mage.  What, that I-"

 

“No.” Fenris shook his head, interrupting, "No, but can you not think of the bad people with access to magic?  Perhaps there isn't inherent corruption, but power breeds it.  So many of them exist in Tevinter, and I’ve already seen many more here.  How many more are there?  Barring even vare for the rest of us, how much will it take out of _you_ to do this?  I don't know how far you'll go to make this idea a reality, and can't you see how that and the realization of your idea-" _scares_ _me?_   He cut himself off.

 

No.  No.  That was too much.  Admitting fear to a mage?  That was a stupid, stupid idea.  Fenris glared at the now speechless man.  Had he done something to Fenris to make him talk?  No, that was a useless fear.  The elf would be able to feel any magic with his markings, and the last thing they ate had been a couple hours ago at least.  So why was he talking to the man like he was, like he was someone who could be trusted?  Then again, hadn't that been what the other had asked for?  Trust, and then others had asked about friendship.  So was admitting fear a part of that, speaking of emotional things?  And if it was, how could he even contemplate such a thing?

 

Fenris had seen Danarius' interactions with people he called friends.  Had seen fellow slaves interactions with people they called friends.  Both were on a scale he was pretty sure was widely off from a free man outside of Tevinter, so was this what one did?  But why was _he_ doing it.  Was he really so starved for understanding?

 

"I'm sorry" Anders finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “I don't want to worry you, but I can't believe that mages should be locked up.  There has to be another way.  There _has_ to be."

 

Fenris was still, staring at the plant.  He had a feeling neither one of them knew what to do with the amount of speaking they had done.  The amount of unspoken words brought to light.  Fenris with his fear and Anders his hopelessness.  And wasn’t that a sad thing to realize, that the mage himself didn’t know if he could believe in a happy end to his own cause.

 

A sudden thought occurred to him, and his shoulders slumped.  He had spent all of his time worrying about mages and magic, and forgotten to do anything to acknowledge the kindness he'd been shown.  Anders had treated him like an equal, and Fenris, well.  Fenris had been suspicious, yet basked in it.  Without thanking the mage.

 

"Putting aside opinions on mages, magic in general, I _am_ grateful for your help." He wasted no time with this realization.  He had never really thanked someone without being forced into it—through fear of punishment upon withholding said gratitude or a twisted sense of love—but that didn't mean he wouldn't try. “You have been kind when you had no reason to be."

 

Despite not looking at him, Fenris had seen Anders accept gratitude enough times to know the mage ducked his head as he replied, "I did what any decent person would.  And you're not the only one who's gotten something out of this."

 

"It seems that I've met not many decent people then." Fenris shrugged to diffuse the weight behind the words, far too heavy for what he could take at the moment.

 

He very much doubted that what Anders had done was as simple as what any 'decent' person would do, but he was content to leave it at that.  The mage seemed content as well, if not happy, and they lapsed into silence, the only speech between them about the plants they picked and potions they would make.

 

 

There wasn't any warning to the attack when it came, but that didn't mean they weren't prepared.  One moment Fenris was deciding which of the two as of yet untested fruits he had brought with him that he should eat—an expensive thanks from a miner the night before—and the next there were three men in leather jumping out in front of him and the mage, sounds betraying two more behind him.

 

"Time to give up your gold" the one in the middle shouted, hefting a broadsword that Fenris didn't particularly _want_ to use, but would welcome having anyways.

 

"Always so imaginative." Anders muttered under his breath with a glance thrown at Fenris filled with shared irritation.

 

The warrior found his lips unexpectedly twitching in a grin and he tossed back, "That may be a part of why they're bandits."

 

Letting out a startled bark of laughter, Anders drew his head back to stare at Fenris.  "That was funny! I didn't know you were funny." He accused, completely ignoring the bandits for the moment.

 

A part of Fenris warmed at the edge of complement in Anders’ tone, and he coughed into his hand in an effort to hide it.

 

"If the two of you are about finished," the lead bandit drawled, "I'm about ready to have that gold there."

 

Without waiting for a reply, the group closed in.

 

*Still five paces from them, there was a tugging of sparking magic and a ball of flame shot past Fenris, hitting the leader in the side and exploding.  The force flung them apart and Fenris spun around, his brands lighting as he leapt at the nearest attacker.   

 

His fingers curled around the bandit’s heart in an almost familiar way, the surprised expression was routine.  Pulling out with his fist clenched flowed smoothly into a twist deflecting the second man’s blow away, the bruise blossoming under his vambrace at the force of the blow ignored.  The dance was one he’d done before many times, and the rhythm easy to fall into.  His armor wasn’t mended as well as he’d have liked, one of the gauntlets a little loose, the straps on his side flapping in a distracting manor, but it did its duty well enough.  He’d been wearing it since he’d healed enough to get out of bed, but fighting drove home how ill the mending had been.  Made sense, since he’d been the one to go over it, and was used to having high quality armor at all times so as to better intimidate Danarius’ rivals. 

 

There was a dissonance in the dance even beyond that though.  An unfamiliar presence and a barrier that had slid over Fenris when the battle began, never faltering and slowing the swings against the elf like they were going through a couple inches of mud.   Magic leapt and crackled behind him, the cool touch of it weird as it lightly slipped where he was used to burning heat bubbling in his brands. 

 

The second man fell with a screaming gurgle as his stomach opened up on Fenris’ claws, and the elf knew it would be a slow death.  There was no time available, nor a particular desire to take the time required to give a mercy kill.  Not out of any cruel desire for pain, rather apathy.  Sounds of the pain filled death followed Fenris as he backed up to the mage, barely sparing a glance for the charred almost corpse moaning and rolling on the ground. 

 

With the leader completely out from Anders’ initial fireball, the other two were facing him with fear written through their movements, impeding them in their fight.  A mistake that both insulted Fenris' training as a warrior and was ultimately fatal.  One of the two literally froze in the step it took for Fenris to get to him, and the elf phased his whole arm, raking through the ice surrounding the bandit and splitting flesh that cold made brittle. 

 

It was unusual, fighting without the tang of blood magic in the air.  Distracting, and maybe that's why he misses the twang of a bowstring releasing, only noticing when the sharp point sheared a line across his arm and punctured the mage’s barrier, burying itself shallowly in Anders side.  The pained gasp was matched by a ripping noise as the man's arm fell back, unintentionally knocking the arrow out.  That must have meant that it couldn't have gone in deep, slowed by the barrier, but the elf was already too far gone to see.  Following the trajectory of the arrow's flight led him directly to the archer, hiding behind some larger shrubs the elf knew he should've taken into account from the beginning.

 

Having a sword would’ve been most welcome, allowing for a large leap to simply cut the man in half, but he could make do without. 

 

The archer had let loose another arrow in the time it took for Fenris to get to him, and the elf took a moment to be impressed at the speed even as it thudded uselessly against his armor.  At his rapid approach a dagger was drawn in defense, but it had barely been unsheathed before he was fatally close, hand slipping smoothly through flesh and tearing with no remorse.  Not to one who had harmed the mage Fenris had as of yet only ever seen heal.

 

A sharp pain touched him where the lyrium lines had only recently stopped sending brittle agony, and he looked down to find the dagger stashed away again, this time finding a home in dark skin between brands of light.

 

Fenris stumbled back with a remote slurping sound, the heart in his hand and the fall of the archer distant.  How had he missed that? He was a bodyguard for an Imperium magister, one who had countless enemies, enemies who had often tried to kill Danarius, and Fenris had been the epitome of deadly grace as he proved just how foolish these attempts were.  So how was it that a simple run in with bandits had him wounded like this?  Granted, he had no sword, and he wasn't used to fighting alongside a mage who was actually involved in the fighting, rather than summoning and using blood magic from afar, which could have been a part of it, but such was no excuse.  He was better than that.  He had fought through agony and survived torturous training that  _proved_ he was better than that.  Freedom hadn't made him weak, had it? 

 

**Fenris turned the thought over in his head, watching the blood drip rhythmically amidst the sounds of men dying in the background.  Had freedom made him weak?  That didn't make sense.  It should've just twisted his paranoia, not corrupted his focus.  Maybe it was the lack of blood magic in the air, he had gotten quite good at fighting while blood magic splashed against him, demons whispering as he phased so close to where they were summoned.  Here there was only the magic touched with healing, cool, but still magic, covering him, coating his skin and _suffocating-_ He needed it off, needed to feel the air instead of the arcane barrier that surrounded him, slowing blows and in his sudden panic restricting his movements.  It had to come off, the mage _had_ to take it off.

 

He would, wouldn't he?

 

“Mage." He snapped, feeling slightly out of breath.  How much blood was he loosing?  It _was_ bleeding at a slightly alarming rate despite the knife still being inside him.  But it was only his arm and the stab wound, the rest just bruises. “Mage." Repeat, continue. ”Remove it, now."

 

"What? Fen- _crap_ , no, don't remove that." Anders, whom Fenris'd already concluded had finished his fight from the silence, misunderstood completely, and the elf looked up to watch him rush over.

 

“I know that,” Fenris argued, frowning.  He knew how much blood loss it took to make him woozy, had been drawn past that many times before.  This really shouldn’t be enough, yet he was definitely feeling it.  That wasn’t the point though. ”Remove the magic, I don’t want it.”

 

Anders mirrored Fenris’ expression even as he did as was bid, “You know, that magic probably saved you from hurting a lot more later.  I wasn’t just putting it there for fun.”

 

But Fenris wasn’t listening to the man’s grumbling, too focused on how Anders had gone to his knees to look at the wound.  Once again he was putting himself beneath the warrior, and this time Fenris had the curious urge to wind his hand into the man’s strawberry blond hair.  Not to do anything with the grip per se, just to have the feeling of it.  It would be a good feeling, he was sure.  But then the thought progressed with a slight tug of his imagine hand, and was spoiled with what Fenris wished the mage to do next.  Became a spoiled, disgusting thought.

 

“I’m going to take this out and heal you right away, so brace yourself and don’t get mad at me for using more magic.” Anders warned

 

For a moment the warrior just stood there trying to chase his mind away from where it’d gone before figuring out that the man actually want consent.  Despite giving it and being ready, he let out a soft gasp of pain as the knife was pulled out, noting the serrated edges.  That must've been the reason for the extra blood loss and subsequent spacey feeling he had. 

 

The brush and flow of magic had his toes curling in the dirt, his nose scrunching up in dislike.  With the abnormality of fighting next to, to _clean_ magic, he was extra sensitive and hadn’t figured out whether it was good or not, just that it was too much.  Too much magic and not enough touch.

 

Thankfully, Anders worked quickly, the majority of the pain gone in an instant, and most of the time spent on the wound actually devoted to checking around the brand, muttering about infections all the while.  Even irritated he was appealing.  Perhaps a little more so when he was irritated.  Just a little though, he’d be even better pliant and happy, submitting easily to the cruel rutting that Fenris was spontaneously desiring.  Had there been a desire demon in the fight that he'd missed?  

 

“Alright, that looks fine now.” Anders nodded decisively, looking up and fixing Fenris with the lopsided smirk he’d been imagining. ”And that was actually a good fight.  Not the whole fighting part, but I think we worked well together.  Other than the whole you getting stabbing thing.  That wasn’t good at all.”

 

“You were shot.” Fenris reminded, trying to rip his mind away from just how lovely the mage looked on his knees.  How he craved the mage to be wearing less clothing and performing a demeaning act willingly, and how ridiculous and cruel such a craving was.  Fenris wasn’t a monster.  He wasn’t.  Where was this coming from?

 

“Hmm?”  Anders sat back on his heels, “Oh right, I’d almost forgot.  It wasn’t deep at all, damaged my coat more honestly.”

 

The burst of healing magic the man used on himself was not nearly as careful as what he’d done with Fenris, a quick thing as he gracefully stood.  The elf wanted to tell him he should’ve healed himself first instead of running to Fenris, but considering his previous thoughts he wasn’t sure of what would come out of his mouth.  How could he be wishing such a thing upon this kind man?  To have him kneel, take the warrior in his mouth and suck as if he wanted nothing more than to please Fenris.   And Fenris would be kind too, he’d resist whatever urge to violence that kind of pleasure brought.  His grip in the mage’s hair would be light, and praise would fall from his lips rather than cruel mockery, no matter what base instincts would demand.

 

But that didn’t change how horrible and violating the act was, and how Anders would never do it willingly, nor could he know that Fenris wished it of him.  The warrior already lived with a hate he didn’t want.  Though he was slightly horrified at its appearance, he could live with this callous urge too.  Just hidden away, stuffed deep down into the dark recesses of his mind he liked to pretend didn’t exist. 

 

Proceeding to try and do exactly that, Fenris dipped his head and murmured out his gratitude for the healing.  Brushing past Anders and heading to where the leader of the bandits had fallen, Fenris took pity on the man still weakly groaning in pain from the burn wounds that covered his entire body.  Going to one knee, he cleanly snapped the man’s neck, then pushed the corpse aside to get to the reason for the venture.  The great sword was as mediocre as he’d thought at first glance, but it would do. 

 

“How is it?”  Anders asked, oblivious to the turmoil the elf was attempting to and succeeding at pushing from his mind.  He’d had lots of practice compartmentalizing after all.  Eventually he'd figure out how to deal with both his hate and this disgusting desire, but for now it was easier to ignore it.

 

Lifting the sword into ready position, Fenris swung it through a couple practice movements, block, slash, block, twist, and stab.  The familiar movements calmed him further, settling the wooziness from blood loss and quick healing into a warmer calm.

 

Fenris smiled, the comforting weight in his hands a comforting thing after going so long unarmed, chasing away the self-disgust of before. Him and Anders would go to the mansion Danarius was staying in and clean it out, hopefully Hawke and another with them.  As a ‘fuck you’ to his former master and Tevinter in general, he’d take the place for his own.  Work with the mage in the clinic, find some source of income—probably mercenary work—get his brands healed, wait for Danarius to show his face again so Fenris could tear his heart out, and live. 

 

“It’s good.”  He replied both to his plan and to Anders.  Turning to the mage who’d saved his life and befriended him, Fenris’ smile became a little softer. 

 

“It’s good.”


	11. Anders

Fenris practically glowed, his forms effortless in the midday sun.

 

Despite the bruises and cuts he still bore from the fight with the bandits, he moved with a surety that Anders hadn't even known was missing until now. No matter how natural the warrior seemed while healing in the clinic, this was obviously where he was most at home.  When he turned to Anders and spoke, the mage barely heard what he said, only catching it when he murmured a pleased repeat as if to himself.

 

Anders privately thought it was more that the _warrior_ was good, rather than the sword—which, while it wasn’t horrible, _was_ the sword of a bandit.  It had been beautiful to watch Fenris practice.  There had been a moment right after he’d stopped that Anders thought he’d almost seen, fear, on the warrior’s face, but the smile and how comfortable Fenris looked now chased it away the thought of it.

 

After Fenris had spent a while longer practicing, they made their way back to Kirkwall in relative silence.  The elf had danced, and the mage had been perfectly content to just watch the beauty of it.  It had been smooth and unrushed, each move perfectly formed in consecutive fluid movement.  Time was told only by the dance, passing through stretches to mix with defensive moves, and then powerful blows joining in last. 

 

All at once Fenris came to a stop, a heavy swing ending in a sheathing movement as the warrior twisted to face Anders.  His face was flushed from exertion, and his ears twitched in what took Anders took a few moments to recognize as embarrassment.  What?  Why would he be embarrassed about such powerful yet graceful movements?  

 

“We should go back now” The warrior stated, taking deep even breaths as he stared at the ground.

 

"You're ready?  I don't mind if you'd like to practice longer,”  Anders ventured, not wanting Fenris to feel rushed.  Before he’d taken note of the mage it had looked like he could go for hours more. 

 

The warrior nodded, heading off in the direction of Kirkwall without another words. 

 

The discomfort seemed to have only been momentary, as Fenris periodically and unashamedly reached back to touch the handle of his newly acquired blade, a small smile softening his face each time.  Anders could relate.  Coming off magebane or a Templar’s smite he took every chance to use or hold his magic, comforting in it’s presence.  he hadn't noticed how much Fenris' lack of a weapon was affecting the warrior, but that was only because he'd never known him with one.

 

Eventually Anders did break into the silence in order to begin explaining the exact way each plant they were using interacted with the others.  To anyone else he might've toned the science of it down a little, but Fenris took to knowledge like dry moss soaking up water.  Even then he might’ve let the silence linger, but the warrior’s questions spoke very clearly of a desire to actually understand, and Anders was overjoyed to have such an attentive friend to talk to.  He was a spirit healer first and foremost, but he had trained in many other types of healing, alchemy being only one of them.  Teaching someone who actually wanted to learn? It was something he could get lost in, both him and Justice.  They could forget for a moment about anything but healing and justice being done because of it, and there was someone there to share with.

 

So absorbed were they that their entrance to Kirkwall was barely noted, a small break in their absorption quickly forgotten as they made their way to the clinic. The rest of the day passed in much the same way, as a slow and sporadic trickle of patients popped in and out, with nothing more serious than a sprained wrist. All in all, it was the perfect day for teaching Fenris.

 

He'd already done some chopping and prepping of plants before, as was part of 'when Anders had time he did this'.  Something that the warrior had easily turned into 'Fenris did this with slight allowances in which he humored the mage and let him do his own job'.  Not that he was complaining.  His clinic had rarely if ever been so efficient. Still not completely efficient—even the brilliant warrior couldn't do miracles—but with the two of them things ran much smoother.

 

All in all—and with only a couple complete failures that Anders stepping in couldn’t even fix—they ended up with a good amount of potions, enough for both the clinic and Fenris' payment.

 

 

That remembrance had Anders' smile dimming somewhat as they got ready for sleep that night.  And as he settled down with a murmured goodnight to the warrior, Anders found the thoughts that had been prodding at him earlier coming back full force.

 

Before he could heal Fenris’ brands completely, he’d have to tell him about Justice.  Not too soon, as he couldn’t do it before they got the warrior set up in his mansion, but soon, still.  If he revealed Justice and the warrior refused his help, it would mean he’d be going through his former masters traps alone.  Not quite alone if he still asked Hawke, but neither of them really knew her enough to trust her help completely.  Both Anders and Justice thought she seemed like a good person, but there was also the fact that _she_ didn’t know Fenris as well as he did.  Not that he really knew the warrior either, just what he’d gleaned from reactions and what he’d been told, but it was different.  He’d been sleeping next to Fenris for more than a couple nights now.  Had woken up from his own night terrors and found Fenris awake from his own.  Had been woken up by the warrior’s fear, before his own dreams could force him awake.   

 

So that he would tell him afterwards was a given.  But the fact remained that he needed to tell Fenris before he did anything else with the brands.  He’d skimmed around Justice’s role originally, but he couldn’t do that again.  Not with the amount of trust Fenris would be putting in him—in a mage—to help him.  The betrayal when he inevitably found out would twist him into something irreparable.  At least towards mages.  And for an extended period of time afterwards—perhaps for good—towards anyone else he might’ve trusted.  Anders couldn’t do that to him.  Even if Fenris did end up reacting negatively, the mage couldn’t deceive him like that.

 

On that him and Justice agreed.  It was the aftermath they disagreed on. 

 

Justice thought that Fenris would understand he was a spirit and not of ill intent.  That he meant no harm, only wished to bring justice where it was needed.  To the downtrodden and the mistreated, the captives and the slaves.  The mages and their lack of freedoms was what he was most focused on due to Anders being his host, but with the warmth and friendship said host felt towards the warrior, the plight of Tevinter slaves was quickly joining his most reviled injustices. 

 

On the other hand, there was what Anders knew would happen.  Fenris had made clear his opinion on mages from the start, and lately had spoken on abominations with his voice dripping in even more loathing.  That Justice was a spirit was a distinction he hoped Fenris would make, but in reality doubted.  A mage was a mage in the warrior’s eyes.  It had taken them a couple near-death experiences and mental breaking before Anders had become something of a trusted commodity, and he wasn’t keen on repeating either of them.  Additionally, he was pretty sure he’d been separated completely from the ‘mage’ category in Fenris’ head, rather than there being any new and potentially positive feelings towards them in general.  Not that Anders could blame him. 

 

Best case scenario had him deciding that Anders was a threat that needed to be watched, either by Templars or the warrior himself.  While neither option sounded any good, at the least the second gave him more time to try and prove to Fenris that he meant no harm. 

 

 

A slight noise from the warrior in question drew Anders attention, and he opened his eyes to gaze at the other.  This overthinking he was doing wasn’t helping anything.  If anything it was harming, feeding his apprehension and working him into circles and loops that led nowhere but down.  It was a surprise that Justice hadn’t said anything about it.

 

Prodding the back of his mind revealed the spirit still there, just curled up and ignoring the mage for some reason.  His presence was a comfort, even if Anders had no idea why he was curled up in the mage’s mind, almost content while his host was so worried.  Then again, the spirit _had_ shown some inclination towards Fenris’ brands.  Only after he’d gotten over the initial shock though, and interspersed with hatred for the injustice that they represented. 

 

Every time Fenris’ former master came up there was a wave of hatred from Justice.  It was something Anders mirrored, something they both felt for Templars as well.  After the passion had ebbed though, after the Templars had passed, that was where the mage’s worry came from.  Sometimes, rarely, and only at the very heights of the feeling, Anders’ had almost felt, lost.  Lost in his own head.  Like the spirit’s wish to repair what had been broken changed to rage at the one who’d done the breaking, and if he’d come out he’d be bringing something like wrath filled violence.  If there was a trigger and then a fight, Justice might come out around Fenris filled with righteous fury, and in return the warrior would attack them. 

 

Anders sighed inwardly as he realized the next thought was one he’d found through many other pathways already.  He needed to tell Fenris.  Needed to say something before the choice was taken from him. The problem was that Anders knew what would happen next, and did not under any circumstances want it, nor could he do anything to stop it.  Fenris would leave. 

 

The mage would be forced to go back to his solitary living, without even a companion to work away the days with, as they’d been doing since Fenris became skilled enough to help.  This time however, he’d not even have the thought of rescuing a lover to help him get through.  Every other time someone had found out about Justice, they’d left, tried to kill him or turn him into the Templars.  The previous experiences had not been many, but they would not change their theme with an warriorwho hated mages as much as Fenris did.

 

 

 

When he woke up the next morning, it was with no memory of falling asleep.  One moment he’d been following a train of thought, and the next he was opening his eyes to stare straight at Fenris, neither one of them having moved in their sleep.

 

The warrior’s blindingly white hair had fallen into his face, soft and fluffy from his recent bath.  It moved lightly with each breath he took, an even in-and-out that Anders knew signified a lack of dreams.  One of his hands was curled up loosely on the bed right beside him, freed from its gauntlet only in sleep and for bathing.  The elf’s hands were definitely warrior’s hands, but also graceful and almost delicate looking, as if their purpose were aesthetics.   Beautiful, but in no way fragile, not with the strength Anders knew them to possess.  Long slender fingers that ended in short slightly jagged nails as if they’d been repeatedly torn or worn away by the tips of his gauntlets, but at one point had been cut and polished to perfection.  This early in the morning the veins were hidden away beneath unbroken skin, free from blemish and soft in the warn light that trickled in through the top of the wall. 

 

Anders had spent hours healing people’s hands before, had examined human, elf, and dwarf hands as he healed from many kinds of wounds.  He knew what they looked like under the skin and over, was intimately aware of the parts in a way only a healer or torturer could be, and he knew elven hands were overall the most gentle looking, in the same ways the rest of their bodies were.  The trend did not differ with Fenris.

 

The illusion was broken when the fingers shifted minutely, revealing hard callus on the palm and inner fingers where Fenris’ had gripped his sword so competently only hours before.  Time away from a rough metal handle had softened them around the edges enough that Anders knew Fenris’d tear his skin in practice, but he doubted they’d bleed.  The amount of time Fenris must’ve spent on mastering a two handed weapon probably equaled the amount of time Anders had spent healing.  It had definitely left a far more lasting mark than the callus his own hands showed from his staff.  Not that it was easy to build callus when one healed as much as Anders did.  The magic flowed through his hands, and as with all energy transfers it was not an absolutely efficient one, losing an insignificant amount of healing into Anders himself.  The diminutive amount built up, and his hands stayed soft, no matter what he did.  Barring an end to his healing, of course.

 

Though the hand Anders had been examining since he woke was blocking Fenris’ eyes and face, he could still tell when the warrior woke up.  He’d seen it many morning in a row, and was familiar with the quick way Fenris snapped to consciousness.  The hands pulled inwards towards his bowing head, his knees curling up to protect his chest.  All for a split second before the submissive language disappeared, replaced with a more aggressive stance that disclosed his sudden alertness. 

 

Anders inwardly sighed, feeling too tired to wake up and face the day.  Fenris would get up quickly—never one to linger in bed—and he’d have to follow.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the warrior, it was that he simply couldn’t laze around while there was someone else up and potentially working.  More certainly than potentially, if he was being honest.  Fenris was horrible at staying inactive—even to recover from a near death experience.  Fidgeting, scowling, often getting up and just doing something despite the pain it caused.  So the warrior would be working, and Anders would be lazing around while there were people to help.  The mere thought had him suppressing a shudder.

 

“ ** _There are always things to do.  Sloth is unacceptable.”_** Justice threw in his own well-worn opinion and Anders groaned, barely catching himself and making it a silent noise. 

 

Not that he hated mornings, he’d just been lulled into a state of something like calm silence examining Fenris while the spirit had been curled up in something like contentment.  Such was evidently gone now with the warrior’s renewed consciousness. 

 

“ _I know, I’m getting up.  And it’s not sloth to sleep in a little. ”_

 

He murmured a good morning to the warrior as he rose, stretching and actually groaning out loud at the way his back ached.  He really wasn’t _that_ old, and with his Grey Warden enhancements sleeping on the floor like this should be easy, but his mind was tired.  It was something fixable, and something he’d seen it in patients before, but he simply didn’t have the time required to let his mind rest.  Besides, it was only a minority of time in which he’d feel so down.  He could deal.

 

Fenris returned the greeting with the faintest hint of surprised warmth he still hadn’t fallen out of, and they went about their morning. 

         

Neither one spoke much as they got ready.  It was only after they’d both starting eating the frankly extravagant breakfast Fenris had thrown together out of apples, cheese and bread that the discussion really started.  The breakfast wasn’t extravagant in how it was made so much as what it consisted of.  Normally Anders would’ve given most of the food away, but Fenris loved apples, and the simple—if mostly hidden—joy on his face while trying the different types of food that had been left behind was something the mage simply couldn’t take away, even to give to another.  Combined with the warrior’s insistence that Anders eat at the same time, it led to him keeping almost all of the food they’d been given.  

 

As to the discussion, well.  While they knew they needed to speak with Hawke, neither actually knew where she lived, so they had to go through Varric.  The dwarf wasn’t someone Anders well personally, but he did know the other spent a fair amount of time at the most popular tavern in Lowtown, The Hanged Man.  In fact he was pretty sure Varric was actually living there. 

 

Fenris seemed a little more comfortable with that, and Anders wondered what the dwarf was like that he’d drawn the untrusting elf in so quickly.  A part of his mind whispered that it was because Varric wasn’t a mage, but he shushed it, knowing that Fenris trusted him more now, and it really didn’t matter as long as the warrior was comfortable.  And safe.  Plus, Anders really doubted he’d be one to fall for a mask.  Either way he supposed it didn't matter.  They needed to see Hawke, and Varric was the way to do it.

 

 

Actually arriving at the tavern had Anders sighing in longing and Fernis curling his nose as they looked around.  Not that Anders really wanted to be in a place like that, it was just that with Justice’s imposed alcohol ban it had been a really long time since he’d gotten drunk, and there had been a great number of times he’d wished to.  A very great number.  It wasn’t a coping method he’d ever had a problem with previously, and had he not joined with Justice he still didn’t think it’d have become an issue, but the forced abstinence made it much more appealing than he knew it to be. 

 

Because it was still so early there were only a few people scattered here and there, definitely not as busy as he was sure it got in the evenings.  The people who’d spoken of it at his clinic had claimed as such.  This lack however made it easy for him and Fenris to flag down the bartender to ask about Varric. 

 

He examined them for a couple seconds before shrugging and responding, “He mentioned you might be visiting healer.”  Tapping his fingers aimlessly on his leg as he sized Fenris, he added, “But didn’t mention you.  So you’d better not be bringing any trouble.”

 

“I bring no trouble but what others give me.”  Fenris smoothly responded in an icy voice that just dared the man to say more. 

 

In return the bartender only let out a short snort, turning back to answer Anders.  “Varric’s suite is up the stairs, first door you’ll see.”

 

Unbothered by the man’s semi-hostility, Fenris moved away towards the stairs at the back of the tavern.  As ever not wishing to draw attention to himself, while still irked at the blatant accusation in the bartenders dig at Fenris, Anders hesitated before following, compromising by sending the bartender a small glare along with his thanks.  The man just shrugged, going back to whatever he was doing with no fanfare.

 

Anders was still a little peeved, but speaking with Varric was more important.  Finding Hawke and helping Fenris.  That was what was important, not what other people's first reactions were to Fenris.  The way he’d been looked at like a walking time bomb.  Like a mage.  But it didn’t matter.  Fenris hadn’t given it any thought after all. 

 

Dismissing it from his mind as they went up the stairs, Anders watched and waited while Fenris knocked on the door they'd been directed to.

 

"He promised he wouldn't say anything about me." Fenris reminded softly

 

Starting, the mage realized his discomfort at the warning had been noticed, and he grit his teeth, looking down.  It really wasn’t a big deal.  He hadn’t meant to get so offended by it.  Hadn’t done anything to draw attention to the fact that he _was_ offended by it.  Only, he’d spent so long seeing people treating mages like vile dangerous creature that any kind of movement in that direction brought his hackles up immediately.  Especially when the disrespect was shown to Fenris, a man who’d shyly smiled at patients when they thanked them.  Who’d focused so intently on simple bindings and looked so proud when he finally managed to create a potion that didn’t need Anders stepping in to help salvage it.  Fenris deserved nothing but good from a world that’d branded him, abused him, and kept him beaten down into subservience.  Anders wanted to see to it that he got it. 

 

The door opened before he could come up with a suitable reply, and they found themselves facing Varric, the dwarf unsurprised at their presence.

 

"Thought you might be coming to visit," he observed cheerily, standing aside to let them in. “It's the chest hair I tell you.  No one can resist for long."

 

"Indeed. It’s a unique thing, seeing as your beard has fallen off your face and onto your chest." Fenris commented, the light nature at odds with the way he surveyed the room, taking careful note of the crossbow the dwarf had brought to the door.

 

"Oh-ho! The broody elf tells a joke."  Varric laughed, putting the weapon down beside a bunch of papers on the table.

 

The warrior frowned. "You've said that before, and I still do not brood."

 

"Friend," Varric replied, amusement something seemingly stagnant in his voice, "If your brooding were any more impressive, women would swoon as you passed.  They'd have broody babies in your honor."

 

The elf blinked, appearing completely thrown.  He stared at the dwarf for a few moments before turning to a quietly laughing Anders.  The mage shook his head, and Fenris appeared to understand it wasn’t him being laughed at, a small confused smile tugging at his lips.

 

"You're an odd dwarf." He responded finally.

 

The amusement was quick to fall though, turning into something a little more serious as Fenris got right to the point. "But we aren’t here for your chest hair.  I need help.  From Hawke too, though I don't know where to find him."

 

Varric turned from where he'd been fiddling with what Anders now saw to be an unfinished manuscript on the table, looking at Fenris curiously.

 

The warrior shifted a little at the direct attention, adding, "I can compensate you both, I have healing potions."

 

"I'll help you." Varric promised after barely a moment of deliberation. “And I can take you to Hawke, she’ll probably be jumping to help.  I'd take a message instead, but you look about ready to bolt and just go alone.  Or, I guess," he added, glancing at the mage, "not quite alone."

 

"Nope." Anders confirmed, because he hadn't spoken yet and felt he should. “But it would be great if you and Hawke could help.  We'll have a better number, not to mention a more balanced team."

 

Embarrassingly, he hadn't even thought of that beforehand.  He'd known they'd ask Hawke, but the intelligence behind asking Varric as well had gone missing somewhere along the way.  And it would be good to have all four of them.  A warrior, a mage, a distance rogue, and a close up rogue. 

 

One thing after another drawing his attention and distancing his mind from what was chronologically the most important.

 

"That it would be." Varric agreed, patting his crossbow almost fondly.  Then he too turned serious.  “Alright, I just have a few things I need to get ready, then we're good to go."

 

"Thank you.  We'll give you some privacy.” Fenris tilted his head, then turned to the mage, eyes flashing to the door.

 

Taking the hint, Anders murmured his own gratitude and then ducked out, followed closely by the warrior.

 

"You alright?" He asked once the door had closed behind them.  “Varric wasn’t exaggerating when he said you looked about ready to bolt."

 

Fenris nodded, grimacing without any elaboration.

 

"Sometimes it helps to talk." Anders prodded with a self-depreciating smile.  “I'm sure you've noticed I'm a big believer in that."

 

Though he squinted at the opposite wall for a couple seconds, his words did have Fenris speaking.  “I know Danarius will not be there, yet I hope he is as much as I hope he's not.  I don't want to face him, but I want to kill him.  I just don't know if I can." The elf's face twisted in self-disgust at the last line.”Pah, I should be jumping at the chance to tear his heart out.  I am not a slave, and he will not stop hunting me until one of us is dead or again under his thrall."

 

The outpouring of words was not what Anders had expected.  The theme of the words he understood, but he hadn't thought it applied to Fenris. 

 

In regards to the speaking, well.  The elf had been a mix between tight lipped and, well, not exactly _chatty_ , but a little talkative.  Like he was bottling everything that hurt up somewhere it couldn’t touch his day to day life, and every once in a while the topper would slip and words would come pouring out.  Then he’d clam up again, and the cycle would begin anew.

 

But the meaning behind the words? That was a little harder to swallow.  That Fenris thought he might have issue with killing his former master meant that the man had manipulated him into such doubt.  Whether through fear or love, Danarius had bound the warrior to him so tightly that he wasn’t sure he could kill the man who dogged his footsteps.  The thought of someone doing to Fenris what was necessary to lead to that kind of feeling, it was disgusting.

 

**_’Justice needs to be done here.  What has been done to the Singing Elf is unforgivable.’_ **

 

Singing Elf?  That one was new.  But still.  _’Justice will be done.  But there’s no one here to bring justice to, so healing comes first.’_

 

The spirit grumbled, unsettled at distance constraints keeping him from rushing to Fenris’ aid, but he accepted it, having been told many times that the minds of mortals needed time to heal from scars.

 

"That's not unusual Fenris," Anders started carefully, wondering if the Hanged Man was a good location for this kind of talk.

 

Not that there was really a choice.  This was where Fenris' anxiety had decided to have the conversation, so that's the way it was going to be.  It was up to Anders to figure out a way to put what Fenris hopefully needed to hear into words.

 

"When someone faces the kind of abuse that you have, the mind can't take it without, well, coping methods.  I'm not sure, I don't know enough about you to tell you exactly what you're feeling, so feel free to correct me if I'm totally off base.  But when you’re placed in a situation that’s abusive and intimate in a way I’m sure it must’ve been for you, it's not uncommon for the mind to, latch on to the person abusing them."

 

There simply wasn't time to get into all the intricacies of what could happen and why, not to mention Anders would need to know more about Fenris' situation, so he tried to make the explanation as quick as possible.  Varric would be out soon, and they'd be off.  Once everything had settled down they could speak of this again.  Anders could ask questions, Fenris could ask questions, and hopefully both of them would understand better.  That was, of course, given that Fenris was feeling up to it later.

 

"You aren't a slave anymore, and never will be again.  But your brain is still trying to figure that out.  I don't think you've had the time to let it heal, to let it break away from the coping methods you've been using as a slave.  The time or the help.  Mental injuries are often impossible to try and heal on one’s own." Anders added, hoping he'd been as generalized as he had been trying to be.  The last thing he wanted to do was seem like he was accusing the warrior of something.  “What you're feeling now, it doesn't make you weak, or somehow prove you're supposed to be a slave.  Everything leaves scars, and forced intimacy of any kind leaves very deep ones.  Fear, hate, love, pain.  The scars are different, but they're still scars."

 

There were a couple moments in which the only sounds were Varric behind the door and people moving around and speaking elsewhere in the tavern.  Anders kept his gaze fixed firmly on the ground, a little embarrassed, to be honest.

 

Mental health was just another faucet of healing, one he'd worked on and learned like any other.  Not as thoroughly, or as well, that was for sure.  And not enough that he'd actually be able to help Fenris without knowing a lot more of what went on in his head.  This had just been a shoddy attempt at something like a patch job.  Fenris was having issues, Anders was trying to allay one or two of said issues for a little bit.  The patch would eventually tear, but it might help for long enough to get some better healing.

 

"That wasn't what happened to you.  You hate the Templars."

 

Anders flicked his eyes up to look at Fenris and found the elf looking at his feet.  He was glaring, but not like he was accusing Anders of anything.  More like he was angry at the whole situation. 

 

The image of them suddenly struck him, and he had to avoid laughing aloud.  An elf and a man standing outside of a dwarf's room, both of the staring at the ground while awkwardly trying to hold a conversation about mental health.  What a pair they made.

****

**_’A good pair.  Working together to bring justice to the mages and the slaves.  To bring freedom to where it’s been denied.  Fenris will understand that we wish to help, and will in turn help our cause.’_** Satisfaction touched the words around the impatience, and Anders was yet again reminded of how little Justice knew of the human, the mortal mind. 

_’Even if he doesn’t kill us, he still won’t be helping us.  He’ll fight for freedom, I’m sure of it, but it won’t be at our side.  You don’t know hatred like I do.’_ Anders clenched his jaw.  ‘ _I can’t say I’d work beside a Templar.’_

The spirit’s frown was practically audible.  **_’But they are not just. Our cause is’_**

 

Internally he flinched, dragging his mind back to the conversation at hand hopefully before Fenris noticed.  One last cluster of parting words to Justice agreed though.  _‘Might’ve been once, but no.  No they are not.’_

 

”I've got mental scars too, believe me.  If you haven't seen them already, I promise you will eventually.  And I always hated the Templars.  I knew what freedom was like, something I think maybe you didn't?" A glance and a nod confirmed this "And I wanted it.  The Templars hurt me" _and wasn't that an understatement_  "for wanting something I believed to be, still believe is, my right.  They never hid the fact that they thought I'm something wrong, something sub-sentient." He froze.  “Not that your former master treated you well.  It's just, usually, when you get attached to an abuser they're done something that would imply some sort of, well, not necessarily _affection_ , but value that they place on you.  Even as just a prized slave, and the value of your abilities, ugh, no, I don't even want to think about that."

 

"Anders" Fenris stopped the mage in the middle of what was becoming a rant about things neither of them likely wanted to think of, and he snapped his mouth shut, grateful for the interruption.  There was another somewhat drawn out stretch of silence.  Then the elf bit his lip, looking sideways at the mage.  “And you're right."

 

He looked as though he might elaborate, but then there was a crash as a drunk dropped their glass somewhere downstairs, and the open, slightly pleading look disappeared behind the disgust Anders now realized was a mask he'd been wearing since they'd arrived.

 

"I'm sorry" Anders said, when the thoughts tumbling around in his head got to be too much.  Where was Varric anyways?  Still, he had started this, realized what it meant, and had no idea what to do other than apologize. Then a thought caught him and he realized aloud, “Or wait, did you mean the blood magic?  Can he control you with it?  ‘Cause then we need to fix it ASAP.  Not that we already didn’t, but that could be an even bigger problem.”

 

A gauntleted hand came up to scratch one of the lines on Fenris’ arm, and he glared at it.

 

“As far as I know the, the _blood magic_ ,” The words were bad enough in Anders’ speech, in Fenris’ they were spat like the vilest poison.  “Can only be used to induce feelings.  Pain, pleasure, whatever Danarius wanted.  But to move me like a puppet who would stop fighting at his command?”  Here the loathing shone strongest, and Anders wished he could do anything to ease the pain Fenris was in.  “I do not know that he needs magic to do that.” 

 

“Fenris,” Anders said, at a loss to anything else.  He was a healer, someone who semi-constantly had people breaking down and apart in front of him, and he’d no idea what to say.  Then the purpose was back and he knew he’d try anyways.  All he could do was make a promise he knew he would die to fulfill.

 

Fenris had looked up at him in his silence, ears back and talons tightening in a way that had to hurt. 

 

Just as determined, no, more determined than ever, Anders spoke the promise he’d made nights ago aloud.  “No.  He will never use you again, not if I can do anything about it.  I promise I’ll be at your side, and I’ll fight for you, even if you can’t fight for yourself.” 

 

**_’We both will.  This cannot stand.’_ **


	12. Fenris

The astonishment filling Fenris had banked somewhat in the face of anxiety, but continued to simmer as they stepped out the door of The Hanged Man and walked through Lowtown.  A couple strides away Anders and Varric were discussing what seemed to be a surprising familiarity on behalf of the dwarf, while the warrior moved in silence, pondering what had just happened.  Given that Anders sounded satisfied with the answers he was receiving, Fenris decided that he need not worry about what Varric’s scrutiny meant for him.  Instead, he was free to let his thoughts drift.

 

And drift they did. He didn't know that he'd ever felt the exact combination of well, feelings, he was confronted with at the moment, and it took a lot to sort through them. 

 

Dread, anxiety, and a terrified hope filled him at the thought of confronting his master, both worried he would kill the man and worried he couldn’t.  His greatest fear however, was a reoccurrence of what had happened the first time he'd felt freedom.  Fenris been left with no choice but to trust the Fog Warriors, and they'd helped him without any strings or prices attached.  In return he'd killed them.  Anders had done exactly the same, so would he also meet the same fate?  His heart crushed in Fenris' fist, betrayed eyes going lifeless as he stared up at the elf.  Fenris may have been a priceless slave in Minrathous, but even all that the lyrium could be sold for didn’t make up for yet another person dead by his own hand when their only crime their defense of him.  Something that was bound to happen if Fenris couldn’t stand up for his own freedom.

 

And the promise Anders had given.  Around that there was elation, amazement, he didn't even know how to describe the emotions.  Barring the Fog Warriors, Fenris had never had someone who cared enough to fight for him without a cost, let alone when he'd stopped fighting.  He was filled with warmth and was certaintly grateful, but honestly wasn't sure what to do about it.  How did one go about paying back something like that?  Especially when it had been a promise rather than an action.  And while Fenris thought that he might trust— _trust_!—Anders to follow through, he still didn’t know what next.  How did one show they were grateful?  Other than the ways in which he’d shown he was grateful to his master, Fenris added darkly to that thought.  He would not submit to the mage, they were equals.  Still though, he did want to do something to acknowledge the other's words.  

 

By the time they reached Hawke's place he was no closer to an answer.  Self-denial would say it was because the trip had been so short, but he knew it was more likely because of how unfamiliar the whole situation was.

 

Three short raps brought his attention completely back to the present, and he automatically fell into a more defensive stance in case he had been wrong about the dwarf and they were led to an ambush.  Force of habit he saw no reason to suppress.

 

He needn't have worried.

 

A woman who looked like the Hawke sisters opened the door, carefully hidden worry blooming in her eyes as she swept them over Fenris and Anders, then somewhat relieved recognition at Varric.

 

"You're here for Marian? Who are these people?" She asked the dwarf in quick succession, standing straight as if she’d physically throw them out if she received a wrong answer.

 

"They're actually here for Hawke.  They need her help.” Varric responded in a soothing and low voice.  He gestured at them in turn. “Anders is the Darktown Healer and Fenris is on the run from Tevinter"

 

Immediately Fenris bristled, taking a short step back.  Varric hadn't said anything about him to the barkeep, so why would he make such mention now?  From what little introductions they had shared before, the older Hawke sister didn’t even know he had been a slave, and while Fenris hadn’t intended on hiding it, he wished to choose who to trust on his own.  His lines flickered.  Not as if he was going to use them, but rather an involuntary reaction too quick for him to try and hide.

 

Rather than becoming calculating, the woman's eyes softened and she stepped aside to let them pass, a worried frown on her lips for the elf.  Not as if in worry for herself, but for, him? Like the fact that he was an escaped slave was enough to have her wanting to protect him.  Strange.

 

"Marian" she called lightly, and somewhat redundantly as the elder Hawke sister was already stepping out into the main area, having heard the door open from the short distance away.

 

Not just short, the main area was tiny and dwarfed even further with the three additional bodies.  Fenris had been a little surprised initially to find that Hawke lived in Lowtown, so it was even more of a leap of imagination to find her in this grubby shack.  In the small moments he'd known her, he'd thought she lived in a mansion in Hightown.  There was an air about her that spoke of importance.  While she wore the poverty well, this grungy hovel did not suit Hawke. 

 

Any of them, he mused, glancing around.  The three women all looked like they belonged in a higher class.  Not the higher class of Tevinter, a different, respectable one he couldn’t imagine of Kirkwall either.  Though Fenris already didn't have a good impression of the youngest, solely by dint of her being a mage.

 

"Varric, Anders, Fenris." Marian Hawke greeted them all with a crooked smile. “I was actually going to visit you two soon."

 

"What, no visit for me? I'm hurt Hawke" the dwarf mock-gasped, placing a hand over his heart.

 

"You're the one who got me into this, 's not like I could leave without you." She replied jovially. “Nor would I want to.  Where would I be without my favorite dwarf?"

 

"Not in the Deep Roads, by the sounds of it." Anders stated.

 

Fenris' eyes flickered over to the mage.  He'd almost forgotten about that.  But it _had_ been the reason she'd contacted Anders in the first place, so of course she was going.

 

"And where would the fun be in that." Hawke nodded, her teasing manner betrayed by the mix of trepidation and anticipation coloring her words. “And that's what I wanted to talk to you about actually.  Come in."

 

She gestured for them to follow her into a side room, and they did so without question.  The warrior was unsurprised to find it as small as the rest of the house, filled with multiple chests and a couple strange plaque like objects along the wall.

 

Hawke pointed to the chairs scattered around as she plunked herself down on one of the chests.

 

"So," she began once they were seated, "Why don't you go first.  What is it you want my help with?"

 

Having expected her to make her request first, Fenris was caught off guard for a moment before he steadied himself, straightening and facing Hawke.  He couldn't quite meet her eyes, the atmosphere of importance around her causing his slave training to rear its ugly head, but he got close, flickering between her face and somewhere lower to the ground.

 

“I need your help clearing a mansion full of magical traps. It’s in Hightown, and up until a few nights ago was where my master was staying.  I almost died facing a group of slavers and wasn't able to confront him while he was still here, but now that I'm well enough to fight I want to check to see if he’s actually gone.  If he isn’t, I’ll kill him.  If he is, there'll likely be traps of some kind left behind." He stated.  The latter was the most likely outcome.  Once Danarius knew he wasn't dead and had help, he would've gone back to Tevinter to attend to politics and wait for another time to come back and make Fenris' life hell. “Anders is coming and Varric has already promised his help, but I would be more comfortable if there was a fourth person.  Will you help me? I can pay you in healing potions"

 

Hawke had seemed confused at first, the expression changing to horror for a split second at the word ‘master’ before settling on an angrily protective glare.  Said look had Fenris faltering, only past training keeping his words strong.  It reminded him of a look Anders seemed to constantly wear when they were talking of either other mages or of Fenris' past as a slave; the mage was just more adept at hiding his thoughts.  Hawke was an open book.  One that confused Fenris, quite frankly.  Why was she wearing such an expression when she didn't even know him?

 

"Of course I'll help you." She answered as soon as he’d finished speaking, sitting straighter as if she was ready to take on Fenris' master right then and there. “Today? We can go now."

 

He blinked.

 

"Thank you," he began slowly, taken aback by the determination Hawke wore.  “But didn't you have something you were going to say as well?"

 

She blinked, then relaxed a little with a low huff and a self-depreciating smile. “As evidenced, I tend to get a little ahead of myself."

 

Fenris felt his mouth twitch in something like amusement.  Hawke might be a little, _strange_ , but he thought he liked her.

 

Before he could reply, a higher version of her voice chimed in, “A little? Please sister, you leap headfirst into everything, often dragging me along with you."

 

"As if you wouldn't show up partway through even if I did leave you behind." The elder Hawke shot back with a grin.

 

Fenris shifted, uncertain as to what to do with the casual back and forth between the sisters.  Banter wasn’t something he was learned on, but found came easily sometimes and stuttered at others.  With Anders and Varric it had felt easy.  Here he could only sit and be glad that he wasn't expected to make a contribution.  Especially since one of them was an unknown mage, despite all outward appearances making her seem a sweet girl.

 

“Oh and look, now you’re the one distracting me from important things.” Marian Hawke caught herself with a slightly apologetic glance at Fenris.

 

“You’re the one letting yourself be distracted” The younger Hawke grinned, then turned to Fenris too, the light expression disappearing behind a more serious one.  “And Fenris, I overheard what you said.  I’d like to help you too, if there’s room.”

 

What was with these Hawkes and their insistence on helping him? 

 

The elder Hawke stiffened however, and Fenris saw worry in her eyes.  The same protective fury that had been lighted for him, but larger, having grown through time and shared memories. 

 

Grateful to take that as an internal excuse, Fenris tilted his head in thanks, but declined.  “Thank you, but I would prefer to keep a smaller company.  Too many fighters would become dangerous in such quarters.”  Not to mention how it would be if two of them were mages.  He could accept Anders’ magic, his healing and even the destruction he’d cast when they’d fought those bandits, but this woman, not more than a girl really, was an unknown.  Unknown mages always had his hackles rising, though now it was to protect himself, whereas before it was to protect Danarius.  His own life hadn’t been a factor. 

 

“Besides,” Marian Hawke added, “You need to save your enthusiasm for the darkspawn.”

 

“Ugh.  Enthusiasm isn’t exactly the right word for how I feel about fighting them.”  The younger Hawke wrinkled her nose, not taking any offense at Fenris’ denial. 

 

“It’s very far off from how any sane person would feel about fighting them.”  Anders chimed in, sending a vaguely worried look at the elder sister.  “You aren’t, excited for this, are you?  Because I can assure you that while it may all seem sunshine and roses in theory, in reality they aren’t actually the most pleasant of creatures.” 

 

Marian laughed, “Don’t you worry, Kirkwall hasn’t driven me _that_ mad yet.  Though you can’t tell me you don’t miss your Warden days at all?”

 

Snorting not unkindly, Anders shook his head.  “Maker no.  Darkspawn this, darkspawn that.  Taint, taint, taint, taint, taint.  After a while, you just get so tired of it, you know?”

 

“Well that makes what I’m about to ask a little harder.”  She admitted, still not losing the grin which at this point Fenris thought should be faked, but looked anything but.  “Nevertheless, I also need a little help from one of you.  And just so there aren’t any misunderstandings, right off the bat I’d like to clarify this,” Marian Hawke added, staring now at Fernis.  “Even if neither of you ends up coming with me, I’m still helping you clean out your former master’s mansion.  That’s not a part of the discussion anymore”

 

Fenris nodded, his lips quirking up in a grateful grin.  He was still wary about the topic to come, but hopeful that she meant what she had said.  A glance at Anders told him the man already knew what was coming, and didn’t like it.

 

Satisfied, she continued.  “You obviously already know I’m going to the Deep Roads on an expedition.  I can bring two other people with me, and one of them is Bethany obviously, so I was wondering if either of you would be willing to be the other.  You’d get money at the end of course, a portion of whatever we find.  I know you’ve got your clinic Anders, but if you or Fenris could take a week, maybe a week and a half off, I’d really welcome your help.”

 

“Going back to the Deep Roads?  Wasn’t the first thing on my list of what to do before the Templars inevitably catch me.”  Still, Anders looked considering, shifting on the chest he had settled down on. 

 

The contemplation was to Fenris’ surprise, as the warrior had woken up to the mage’s nightmares about darkspawn many times. He hadn't thought the other would be so quick to meet them again.  It wasn’t at the mention of money that he’d perked up though, but at the part about helping Hawke.  So there was that to take into account when he wondered why Anders would even think about returning.  Then the mage’s gaze was drawn to Fenris and the glint of interest disappeared. 

 

Evidently Hawke had noticed the glance, as she spoke up before he could flat out refuse.  “Obviously this isn’t something I can just drop on you and expect you to decide right away.  We’re leaving the day after tomorrow, meeting up in Hightown.  If one of you does decide to join, meet me there that morning.”

 

“Alright.” Anders conceded easily to the noncommittal answer. “We’ll talk about it.  Or,” He jerked to look at Fenris, “If you want to go and know now, I can’t stop you.”

 

But Fenris shook his head, slowly.  He’d heard of the Deep Roads, knew of them even before meeting Anders, but he’d never thought of actually going to them.  They were a thing that the Grey Wardens dealt with, not runaway slaves.  Now that he had the option of going, of helping Hawke when she was so ready to help him, he couldn’t decide in a split second.  He didn’t particularly want to go, but he did also want to help.  Plus, actually taking a moment to consider it, Anders _would_ be a better help in the Deep Roads.  A Grey Warden and a healer would be far more useful than a warrior.  Not to say that Fenris had no part to play, he could take care of the clinic while the other was gone.  He knew he wasn’t an amazing healer, but he’d manage. 

 

“Alright then, thanks for listening to me.  Now let’s go.” Marian declared, clapping her hands together and standing up. 

 

Fenris was left startled at the sudden change in topic, glancing at the others to see if he’d really spent so long pondering.  Varric and the younger-Bethany looked unconcerned, while Anders was gaping in some kind of amused and shocked awe.  It wasn’t just him then.  Good to know. 

 

He stood with the others, knots tying themselves inside his belly at the reminder of what he was about to do.  Thoughts of the Deep Roads fled to the back of his mind, that could be a focus for later tonight.

 

Again he and Anders waited outside, this time while Hawke said quick goodbyes to her family.  Varric joined them as well, and there was no speech.  Regardless of the potential observers, Fenris stayed close to Anders, refusing to acknowledge that he wished to be even closer.  It would be wonderful to just, lean on the man.  Maybe an arm around his waist, head resting on his shoulder.  A mirror of the way they had sat after Karl.  Except that it wouldn’t be to comfort him for something lost, but to bolster him up to something he wanted to obtain.  Because Anders had _promised_ , and Fenris wanted to believe it.  Couldn’t.  Still couldn’t.  But he was closer.

 

A total of two feet closer.  He kept his dry amusement at the thought internal.  It was true though.  A week ago and he wouldn’t be standing anywhere near the mage.  A week ago and he wouldn’t be standing so near a man.  Now, he was standing, semi-comfortably, a step away from him.

 

“Shall we go then?”  Marian appeared from inside, her eyes fierce.  “It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to kill a slaver.” 

 

“There may only be magical enemies here” Fenris reminded warmly

 

The jumps she made between personalities were startling, but an aspect of her nature he though he might like.  As long as there were no shifts to betrayal.  That would be something he would still have to watch for.  His eyes met Anders’, then for a briefer period of time Varrics’, and he reminded himself that he didn’t need to wait for everyone to potentially betray him. 

 

“Ah well, still needs killing.”  She shrugged, unbothered by the distinction.

 

“That they will.” 

 

“Something always needs killing here in Kirkwall.”  Varric laughed “Killing, stealing, returning,”

 

“Healing, visiting, fixing,” Anders added in his own work.  “There’s always something to do here.”

 

Figuring he’d have his say as well, Fenris chimed in “Or someone trying to kill you.”

 

“Ya, it did _not_ take long for me to figure that one out.” Marian agreed with a laugh, “You know, back in Ferelden it was only the darkspawn wanting to kill me.  Those were the good old days.”

 

“You’ll be heading into the Deep Roads tomorrow, said days aren’t exactly far behind you.”

 

“And I’m going to make a point of it too.  Can’t go too long without a venture to the Deep Roads.” She nodded like she was setting it in stone, twitching lips betraying her amusement.  “Elsewise I’ll get so out of shape the bandits around here will seem hard to fight.”

 

“Please, if they ever give a challenge it’ll either be because they all banded up and attacked at once, or the rest of the world’s gone backwards.” Varric scoffed, one hand fondly patting his crossbow.

 

“Just look out for Meredith marrying Orsino and announcing that she was wrong about mages the whole time.  Then you’ll know which one it is.” 

 

 

The easy banter continued as they made their way to Hightown.  Fenris found it comforting, the illusion of close comradery where in reality he’d not known any of these people more than ten days.  He even joined in, throwing in small lines that made the others smile or laugh.  Then the mansion came into view and his voice seemed to abandon him, any warmth he'd felt going with it.  That the very sight of the place could get him so anxious was not a comforting sign for things to come.

 

They stopped outside the door and Fenris glanced around at the empty courtyard, extremely aware of how open it was out here, and how confining it would be inside. 

 

It would be fine, he reminded himself.  He would not be cowed by the mere memory of the man who’d owned him, who _abused_ him for years.  Danarius had taught Fenris to love him with pain and honeyed lies, but that did not mean that Fenris had to listen.  He had a friend.  Perhaps a couple of them, given a little more time.  There were people who believed he was more than property, and he believed that too.  And if Fenris believed _that_ , then he had to believe that he was worth more than the twisted scraps of affection Danarius gave him.  The scraps that turned his fear to love. 

 

The last thought had his face twisting in anger, and his blood boiling in readiness to fight.  No.  Danarius had not been loving, and had not been deserving of Fenris’ love, as twisted it had been in return.

 

“Let’s go.” Fenris snarled, the fear easily turning to rage as he walked towards the door

 

If Danarius was in there, Fenris would kill him, tear his heart out and leave it on the floor, as worthless as the man himself.  If Danarius was not there, Fenris would clear out the mansion.  He’d take it for his own, and then he’d wait for the magistar to slink towards his own death. 

 

There would be no more running. 


	13. Anders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments are amazing and make me so happy, and I love you all! Enjoy :)

The look of rage on Fenris’ face had Anders momentarily freezing, the memory of the first time they’d met echoing in his head. 

 

’ ** _It matters not.  The one who has performed most of the injustice in the Singing Elf’s life may be in this building.’_**

****

_‘I barely stopped for a second!’_   Anders protested, true to his words already close at Fenris’ back, his staff in hand after one last quick check to make sure no one was taking note of them. 

 

’ ** _Justice does not wait when it need not.’_**

 

_‘Now what have I told you about referring to yourself in third person.’_

The quip had Justice lapsing into a confused silence; one that Anders was grateful for as it banked the passion that had slowly been building. 

 

Anders hated Fenris’ old master for all the scars he knew he’d left on the strong warrior. Both the ones he knew of and those he didn’t.  And as Anders’ hate grew, so did Justice’s passion, which was something that they could _not_ afford happing here.  Fenris was on edge enough about potentially meeting his former master, throwing Anders’ passenger into the mix would make things so much worse.  Hawke and Varric already knew and were okay—that Anders had seen—but Fenris wouldn’t be, and it would be far harder to make sure they all stayed alive if the mage was also trying to defend someone set on killing him. 

 

“Danarius! Show yourself!”  Fenris’ voice was strong, ringing out into the mansion and echoing emptily back at them. 

 

Hawke flanked the warrior while Varric and Anders slowed enough to walk behind.  It sometimes irked the healer to not be in a defending position, but knew it was more intelligent to have melee fighters in the front.  He’d learned to deal with it his first time fighting in a group with the Wardens, he could do it again when fighting here.   A rumble of discontent echoed in the back of his head as Justice agreed.

 

The room they found themselves in was mostly empty, crates and sacks lining the walls in a half organized manner, as if someone gave up part way through.  Anders’ had barely taken it in before they were moving again, crossing the room in mere seconds to reach the exit. 

 

“Someone’s left a surprise here for us.”  Varric spoke up before Fenris could open the door, and the warrior paused, curling and uncurling his hands as he stepped back to allow the dwarf to go first.

 

 Varric crouched in silence, running his hands along the bottom right half of the door.  A few seconds of that and he gently opened it, peeking through the gap left behind.  There was some sort of contraption attached to the door from the other side, evidently the ‘surprise’.

 

It was impossible to see what he did with it from where Anders was standing, but after a couple seconds there was a proud huff, and the door swung the rest of the way open.  The healer saw him slip the pieces into a pocket before stepping aside to let the other’s go through. 

 

Noticing him looking, Varric patted the lump the contraption made and explained, “It pays to know the in’s and out’s of all different types of traps.  Plus, free parts.”

 

Anders was too tense to chuckle, but he still shot the dwarf a grin before following Hawke into the next room.

 

In this one there was a fire burning and even more crates, objects turning into clutter at the back of Anders’ awareness when Fenris stepped further into the room and there was a harsh grating noise. 

 

Black cloaked figures rose from the ground in tandem, grey ash staining where they stood. Fenris immediately raced forward beside Hawke, but the shades stayed motionless for a moment before the soft twang of a crossbow bolt and the light of four arcane shields seemed to kick them into motion. 

 

The group uniformity split, two going for each member of the party in a unison broken only by Hawke and Fenris’ blades. 

 

Shadows danced in the light of the fire, interspersed here and there with flashes of Anders’ casting.  Here a shade fell to ice, its already translucent shadow disappearing in the flare of magic.  There another pushed forward, slipping past where Hawke was dueling two at once and making its way towards Varric.  This thin shadow met the dwarf’s shorter one and they overlapped as the shade reached out to catch him.  A rapid succession of bolts sinking into the creature’s front ended that advance, and a crow of triumph followed.

 

A gust of air banked the fire momentarily, throwing them into darkness and granting the shades the temporary advantage over the human members of the group.  Then a screech as Hawke buried her blades into the back of the shade nearest the flames, and a last quick slash to make sure it was dead before she rejoined Fenris in protecting their distance companions.  A muted patter filled the room as a hail of arrows flew from Varric, some of them meeting their targets and others falling harmlessly to the floor. Momentary distractions that had all the fighters dancing to avoid them.

 

Fenris’ shadow was tinted blue as white brands lit up in a bright contrast to the warrior’s dark skin.  It intersected with Hawke’s as the rogue swiped both of her knives through the back of a shade creeping up on the warrior, and then lightened further as a healing spell swirled around him, instantly closing the gash yet another shade had left on his arm. 

 

The flinch the warrior gave was barely perceivable, but Anders caught it, wincing at the thought that he might’ve thrown the magic-hating elf off balance.  The next heavy swing outwards disabused him of that notion, black sand spilling out where shades had surrounded Fenris seconds before.

 

“Everyone okay?”  Hawke asked as soon as the last shade fell. 

 

Anders might’ve answered if not for more shades appearing, these larger and their arcane auras thicker than their fallen brethren.  Less of them however, an oversight they wouldn't live to regret.  Not that Anders really thought they had the mind power necessary to notice such lack in strategy. 

 

And the odds were definitely tipped in their favour, as one after another of the large shades went down, speared by bolts or opened up by steel and ice.  It too was a quick fight, and they were left barely panting, Anders and Hawke running their eyes over their friends to make sure no harm had been done.  

 

“He sends spirits to do his fighting for him.”  Fenris spat, taking a step towards the next door.  “Danarius!  Can you hear me?  Your pets cannot stop us!”

 

Since arriving in the mansion, all traces of the uncertain warrior from outside Varric’s suite had disappeared, and a sort of pride had been kindled in the mage with it.  Pride for the elf who worried he’d not be able to strike down his former master, yet strode toward the possibility with his head held high.  Anders was sure there’d be more trouble when they actually came across Danarius, but he was also sure that Fenris sold himself too short.  It would be hard, but the healer firmly believed that Fenris would come out the victor in a fight between the two.

 

 

The next room they found themselves in had more doors that would’ve confused Anders, but Fenris led them unerringly to one that wasn’t locked, opening up into a large empty room with staircases and burning braziers casting loud shadows across the room.

 

“Now that’s just rude.  What are they trying to do, ruin my boots?” Varric complained, passing Fenris to head into the middle of the room.

 

He hadn’t made it far before more shades were appearing all around the room, pulled out of whatever stasis they’d been waiting in by the presence of living beings.  Danarius definitely wasn’t one to balk at summoning demons, Anders thought grimly. 

 

“Wait” Varric called, stopping both Fenris and Hawke in their rush to meet the creatures head-on.  “There are traps in the middle of the room, keep the fighting to the outside.  Blondie, I need you to guard my back.”

 

Anders called out an affirmative and the group split.  They hadn’t been fighting together long enough to do it seamlessly, but they made it work.  Hawke and Fenris took those on either side of Varric and Anders, while the healer cast at the shades on the other side of the room.  They were smart enough to avoid the traps Varric’d saw, so point to them.  Not that said point would help any in their favor.

 

One of the greater shades approached Varric while their fighters were distracted, and Anders flung an arcane bolt at it, hoping for a lucky hit. 

 

‘ _Shit_ ’ He thought as the bolt barely slowed it down, and it turned to face him, ignoring the crouching rogue entirely.  So at least that had gone to plan. 

 

A quick glance showed Hawke jumping from crate to crate—one of which Anders just _knew_ was going to be contrary and break—as she and Fenris tag-teamed a group of shades.  Others crowded in towards Varric, but the healer was in no position to help him, not with the large one coming towards him. 

 

“You’re on your own for a bit Varric!” Anders called out in warning and sent out a cone of cold to halt the shade’s progression. 

 

A retaliatory mind blast had the healer reeling, stumbling back and into a sack of something unpleasantly squishy.  The shade continued to advance over the spikes of ice, and Anders pushed himself to his feet, sweeping his staff outwards like a sword. 

 

It connected, the dragon’s head blade ripping through the shade and causing it to let out a long shriek of pain.  He ducked under one of its flailing arms, cursing when claws caught in his robe and pulled him back from his retreat.  While he liked to bemoan the fact that he couldn’t protect the others by staying in the front, melee combat had never been his favorite.  He wasn’t horrible at using his staff like a glaive, but he wasn’t exactly good at it either.   

 

Anders staggered as the shade filled his head with horror, and then he was being mentally pushed aside, blue tinging the edges of his vision as Justice emerged to deal with the creature. 

 

Natural terror filled Anders at the spirit’s appearance, and he screamed at Justice to go back into hiding, to not let Fenris see.

 

’ ** _If we are killed by these demons then it doesn’t matter if he sees.’_** The spirit responded, mental voice even despite the vicious way he tore apart the shade facing them.

 

Letting Justice out would give the healer a fighting advantage, but it wasn’t worth the possibility that Fenris might see.  And now that he _was_ out, attempting to push him back was like beating against a brick wall.  The spirit wouldn’t more until he did, giving way so Anders could take back control.

 

Startled by the sudden take-over and subsequent return of his body, Anders stumbled yet again, falling to a knee and barely catching himself in the grit that had once been a shade.  Looking about wildly, he found Fenris’ attention elsewhere, something that had him relaxing until he met Varric’s eyes. 

 

There was a split second in which the dwarf looked confused, but then, looking from the healer to the warrior and back, he seemed to understand.  A short nod was all the reassurance Anders got before Varric was turning away, back to the battle.

 

Taking the time he needed to stand back up, the healer surveyed the battle ground.  More shades were appearing to fill the gaps the fallen had left behind, but none of them were powerful enough to put up too much of a challenge to the trained fighters. 

 

’ _You can’t do that.  If Fenris sees you here, he’ll try and kill us’_ Anders hissed, beginning to cast from a distance once again. ’ _When we tell him it needs to be in a controlled environment.’_

 

‘ ** _We are going back to the Deep Roads in the morning.  There is little time to tell him, unless you plan to wait until we get back.’_**

 

 _’First of all’_ Anders snapped, still off-balance from the spirit’s appearance, ‘ _We did_ not _decide to go to the Deep Roads.  Hawke asked us, yes, but we need to think of the clinic, plus talk to Fenris first.  And second, even if we did go, of course I’m going to wait ‘til after we come back.  Dropping something like this on him and then buggering off for a week?  That kind of things doesn’t really inspire trust.’_

_’ **You worry unnecessarily.  And,’**_ Justice continued before Anders could cut in, ‘ ** _Fenris is intelligent, he will not be ruled by rage.  He will accept us.’_**  

 

Tired of an argument neither of them could win until it came to pass, Anders capitulated.  ‘ _Not here though.’_

****

Justice did the mental equivalent of a noncommittal head tilt.  ’ ** _If it can be avoided.’_**

 

 

The last shade fell to Fenris with an ear-splitting scream, and the mansion lapsed back into creaky silence for only a moment before a low growl filled the room and a rage demon pulled itself out of the ground, accompanied by more swirling shades. 

 

Even as it was still dragging itself up, Anders was casting, winters grasp momentarily freezing it and kicking the rest of the fighters into motion.  From then on it was a whirlwind of battle cries and yells of pain on both sides, healing lighting the room each time it was one of their own making the latter noise. 

 

The smell of burning flesh filled the room and Anders spun to see Hawke crying out and throwing herself out of the way of the rage demon.  A blast of liquid fire hit the ground she’d been standing on, and he could see the outline where it’d hit her instead. 

 

A quick distance heal gave her enough time to get fully out of its way, and the interference distracted the demon.  Moving towards Anders when it really should’ve been paying attention to Fenris, the creature fell in a splash of magma that made the carpet spark and dust catch alight. 

 

“Hawke!” Anders blurted out, scrambling to the rogue and waiting just long enough to meet Fenris’ eyes in a silent request for protection before he started to examine the burn.

 

It was a nasty one, her left arm and side having taken the brunt of the fire.  The leather armor she wore had curled and twisted in the flames, only Hawke’s quick retreat saving her from it melding with her skin.  She panted in pain at the heat, but bore it well, helping him pull away the stressed covering so he could get to healing the skin underneath.   

 

Anders sent cool healing magic in through her arm, twining it down her side so she wouldn’t need to remove all her protection.  Enough burn victims had become his patients that he was accustomed to the kind of healing required, coaxing the melted skin into softening and then forcing new skin to grow quickly through it.  Saving as much as he could and discarding what he couldn’t. 

 

A shade attempted to sneak past Fenris and it was Justice whose hand rose to meet it, a powerful spirit bolt bursting it into dust. 

 

The blue glow from his eyes reflected on Hawke, and he met her gaze uncertainly, pausing in his healing in case she reacted badly.  She hadn’t the first time, but there were very few people who would fight beside a possessed mage, even one who shared space with a spirit, and not a demon.  The look in her eyes was not fear though.  Not overwhelming fear, at least. 

 

“You told me before that you harbor a spirit and not a demon.”  She stated, her panting having slowed as Anders healed away more pain.  The look her eyes was one he’d seen on the Warden Commander, and he knew in that moment that he’d fight beside Hawke countless more times before his Calling took him.  “I’m holding you to that.”

 

Perhaps it was inappropriate, but Anders couldn’t stop his grin.  “Thanks.  I promise your trust won’t be misplaced.”

 

“Good” Hawke nodded, then grimaced, “Now can we please continue fixing me?  I prefer wearing animal leather, not too fond of Hawke leather.”

 

Anders bit his tongue and went back to healing.  “There are so many jokes there, but I’m not sure I’m morbid enough to make them.” 

 

Hawke snorted, “Don’t worry, I’m sure my mind’s already came up with the ones you want to say.”

 

’ ** _Now is not the time.  You leave the Singing Elf and the dwarf unguarded.’_**

 

Anders sighed.  “Yes Justice, I know”

 

“Do that too much and your houseguest is bound to notice.”

 

Freezing again, Anders shot a quick glance at Hawke.  He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud, or that she’d noticed that he was hiding the spirit from Fenris.  But she didn’t look judgmental, something Anders was quite grateful for. 

 

He finished healing her and stood, offering a hand to help her up too. 

 

“I’m going to tell him.  Soon.”  He added

 

 Hawke tested her arm gingerly, with more energy when she realized it barely hurt.  Before rejoining the fray she looked back at him.  “I know.  Just don’t wait too long.”  

 

 

The fight was over soon after that.  Fenris and Varric had taken care of most of the remaining shades while Anders was healing Hawke, and the four of them quickly mopped up the rest.  No one other than Hawke had been badly hurt, and Anders was grateful to not have to use more battle healing for the moment.  Not that he wouldn’t use up his whole mana pool if necessary, it was just that healing during battle was harder on the body then the healing Anders normally used.

 

Fenris led them up the stairs and to the middle door, centered between two others, but found it locked, and he was unable to phase through it.  Without words they agreed to search for a key elsewhere in the house.  The warrior was the only one who’d been there before, so they followed him back down the stairs and to the wing opposite the one they’d come in. 

 

They continued deeper into the mansion, coming across even more shades as well as a couple chests with trinkets and junk in them.  Varric was quickly designated the keeper of said objects and any found money, none of them wanting to take the time to divvy it up.  Fenris didn’t even want any, content to let it go to the others in additional payment for their help.  Though Anders wanted to argue with him that the potions were enough, he wisely kept his mouth shut.

 

 

The last room on the side wing ended up holding the key, as well as a multitude of shades and yet another rage demon.  This one seemed to like disappearing and popping up elsewhere, leading to Anders almost exhausting his mana healing himself and Varric after they’d been surprised by it appearing in a shower of flame.  Justice had come out again, but Anders was pretty sure Fenris hadn’t seen.

 

It had been Varric who’d spotted the key amongst the ashes the rage demon had left behind, Anders too busy subtly staring at Fenris.  He’d only looked at first to check if the warrior was going to attack him for the Justice related mishap, but then found he couldn’t draw his eyes away. 

 

The warrior had come to their defence in a fury, wielding the massive great sword like it weighed nothing.  The sweeping strikes and bone-shattering blows were just as beautiful as the first time he’d seen Fenris practice.  Just as beautiful, though far more deadly. I'm the true fight he'd held back little, a power to his attacks that had been missing in the graceful repetition.  Each slash was a force of nature, beating on the demon until it was nothing. 

 

Anders had been a little embarrassed at his wandering attention, but found avoiding everyone’s gaze was a good way to also avoid mention of it.  Overall he was just grateful no one said anything to the warrior.  He did not need to know that Anders found it hard to take his eyes off him when he was so perfectly in his element. 

 

They headed back to the main room, then after a quick and quiet discussion visited both of the side rooms first.  There were some not quite so fresh corpses in one, a knocked over wardrobe and broken furniture telling a short story about the fight.  One chest in each as well, though they spent little time searching inside them.  Fenris had been steadily growing more and more antsy with each room turning up empty of any magisters.  It was obvious he’d pumped himself up to meet his former master, and with only one more room to check, he practically vibrated. 

 

“Let’s go.”  Fenris snapped as soon as Hawke passed over the last necklace from the chest, barely waiting for them before he was heading to the last locked door.

 

Fenris fumbled with the key due to his gauntlets, but refused any help, forcing the metal in and twisting it.  It was a surprise the thing didn’t break.

 

But as soon as the door opened there was a high squealing noise that had them all flinching.  Anders had just enough time to wish they’d let Varric look for traps before a displacement of magic had him turning, pulled by Justice’s recognition to meet the arcane horror that surfaced behind them. 

 

“Look out!” He shouted, barely strengthening his shields around the companions in time for a powerful mind blast to sweep outward from the horror, leaving him woozy and uncoordinated. 

 

Fenris pushing past him nearly knocked him over after the blast, but Justice steadied them, pulling Anders’ body up straight to begin casting while the warrior's attention was elsewhere.  Hawke and Varric darted forward too, though their not so steady walks told Anders that his shields hadn't been as strong as they should've been.  The blast must’ve missed Fenris.  That or simply didn’t affect him.  Anders couldn’t say he’d ever tested a mind blast on the warrior, and would likely never do so either.

 

The rogues split off to the side and Anders finally noticed the shades that had appeared with the arcane horror, scowling internally at how out of it he was.  He sent a mental prod at Justice to give him back control. 

 

**_’You are still unsteady.  I will help while you regain yourself.’_ **

 

A ball of fire shot from his hands to explode on the group of shades coming up the stairs, and Justice turned back to focus on the arcane horror fighting Fenris, ignoring Anders’ insesent grumbling.  A blue spirit bolt hit the warrior and Justice let out a roar of anger, flinging his own bolt back at the creature and throwing it through the banister.  Something like surprise crossed its face as it saw Justice, and it teleported away midair.  Justice made to approach the downed warrior and Anders screamed at him to stop, to let the healer out. 

 

Anders could feel the spirit’s desire to argue, but finally, _finally_ his arguments won out and Anders staggered as he was returned to full command of himself. 

 

“Fenris?”  He gasped out, falling to a knee beside the warrior and reaching out with his magic to search for wounds. 

 

“Don’t!” The warrior spat, flinching away. 

 

Terrified that he’d seen Justice, Anders prepared himself to run, but Fenris’ anger seemed to quell when he took in the healers face. 

 

“I-” Fenris cut himself off, standing unsteadily.  “I’m fine.” 

 

With no more than that the warrior was scurrying away and leaping down the stairs, following the arcane horror where it had teleported to sneak up on Hawke. 

 

Once again Anders was left feeling wrong-footed.  Had Fenris merely been reacting to the magic, or had he seen them when Justice was in control?  It couldn’t be the second one, Fenris would’ve mentioned it.  Nicely mentioned it.  Perhaps even stopped the battle for a cup of tea and a little chat. 

 

’ ** _We waste time here.’_** Justice urged Anders to his feet and onwards.  ‘ ** _What’s done is done.  Fenris still fights, so we will fight with him.’_**

 

Like many times before, Justice had a good point, and Anders threw himself back into the fight, his head still throbbing now and again from the initial attack.  Hawke and Fenris were confronting the horror together, so he joined Varric, freezing one of the shades that was a little too close to the dwarf.  Varric shot the second one in the head point-blank, tipping his head to Anders in thanks before turning to the next.

 

With both of them focused on clearing the shades and their replacements, it left Hawke and Fenris free to focus solely on the arcane horror.  A thunderous twang--far deeper than the one heralding its arrival--announced its death, and Anders spun in time to see both their companions flying back from where it’d expired in a wave of force. 

 

Suppressing his first instinct to run to them, Anders cast his own mind blast, slowing the greater shade he was fighting so that he could go after it with his staff.  Its death gave him time to assess Varric, send a healing spell his way, and then shove another shade backwards.  A glowing hand reached through it, tearing at whatever vital organs the demon had inside, and it fell to reveal Fenris standing behind.

 

 

Three more shades.  Then two.  Then one and no more rose up to replace them.  Dust and sand settled in the cool light of the mansion, and they turned almost as one to look at the glowing warrior. 

 

“Gone.”  He stated, turning to face the others without meeting anyone’s eyes.  “I had hoped… No, it doesn’t matter any longer.”  He glanced toward Hawke.  “I assume Danarius left valuables behind.  Take them if you wish.  I,” Another hesitation.  “Need some air.”   

 

With that Fenris took his leave, slipping outside before any of them could figure out what to say. 

 

Anders shifted on the spot, torn between following and giving Fenris space, uncertain of which would be better.  They trusted each other now, so wouldn’t it be better if he went?  Gave Fenris someone to lean on?  Or did he want to be alone?  The warrior hadn’t said anything to indicate either way…

 

“Maybe there’ll be something about where his former master is inside the last room?”  Hawke broke the silence to suggest, and Anders turned, realizing that the others were both watching him now.

 

“Right.”  He stated firmly, nodding and making his way back up the stairs. 

 

If there was any more loot it would also be in there for her to pick up, Anders thought uncharitably, chastising himself even before the thought'd fully formed.  Hawke had made her desire to help Fenris clear, and she’d been good to him as well.  Far better than he deserved. 

 

There were indeed a few chests in the room, but none of them contained anything that would be of value to the warrior and this time it was Anders who was antsy, wishing he’d gone out with Fenris in the first place.  Who was to say there weren’t more traps waiting for him outside?  It would be a good one.  Get him to let down his guard, think that it was all over, then spring more shades and demons while they were all distracted.

 

“I’m going to go see Fenris.”  He blurted when that train of thought had gone too far

 

“We’ll be out in a moment.”

 

With that he left, retracing their steps and wishing he had a better sense of direction.  When he finally escaped the mansion it was only to come to an abrupt halt upon finding Fenris unharmed and outside, leaning against one of the mansion’s pillars. 

 

“I’m sorry he wasn’t there.”  He offered when it didn’t seem like Fenris was going to say anything. 

 

The warrior turned almost lazily to look at Anders, studying him for a few moments before nodding and looking back up at the sky. 

 

Becoming rapidly familiar with uncertainty in a way he’d almost forgotten, Anders approached Fenris, awkwardly leaning against the wall beside him.  He knew touch wasn’t something the warrior welcomed, but he wanted to offer his support somehow, and words just weren’t working. 

 

After a while Fenris spoke up, his voice even despite the malice that could’ve been put behind the words.  “I escaped a land of dark magic only to have it hunt me at every turn.  And now I find myself in the company of another mage.  Living with a mage.” 

 

 “If it makes you feel any better you have this place now.  You don’t need to live with me.” Anders replied slowly, suppressing the angry answer that wanted to escape.  Fenris had been through enough today.  Whatever he said, no matter how much it made him want to protest, Anders would practice patience.  He could listen, even when he disagreed. 

 

But the warrior didn’t continue along that train of thought, instead abruptly introducing another.  “I had forgotten that all of Kirkwall smells, and not just parts of it.  Even the nobles have to deal with the stench of decay.”

 

“Part of said stench is the mix of all the scents they use to try and cover it up.”  Anders offered, turning to jesting was far more comfortable. “One can never smell too flowery.” 

 

Fenris tilted his head in acknowledgement, still stony and contemplative. 

 

“Anders…”  He began, but the mansion door opening cut him off, and he didn’t resume that trail either. 

 

“Hawke, Varric.  Thank you for your help.”  Fenris said formally, pushing away from the wall to stand in front of them.  “I did not find Danarius, but I still owe you a debt.  Here are the potions, as promised.”

 

The collection of small vials Fenris had created was split and handed over, and Anders absently frowned, wondering where the heck they’d been for the whole fight that they were still intact and clean. 

 

“I don’t have an answer for you about the Deep Roads, but should you find yourself in need of assistance, I would gladly render it.” 

 

“I’d welcome whatever help you give.  And if you ever need help, either of you,” She smiled, glancing at Anders for a moment before turning back to the elf, “I’d be honored to be of service.  Just come to Gamlen’s house in Lowtown, or I guess after the Deep Roads I’ll hopefully be in Hightown, in the estate.”

 

Fenris blinked in surprise, belatedly replying, “Thank you.  And should you ever have need of me, I will be here or at the clinic.  If Danarius wishes his mansion back, he is free to return and claim it.”

 

Hawke’s smile became a little more worried at the last part, but they exchanged their farewells nonetheless.  There was a moment in which Anders wasn’t sure if he should also be making his departure alone, but Fenris started walking in the direction of Darktown and Anders fell in beside him. 

 

 

It didn’t take long for them to get back to the clinic, having met no resistance on their walk.  Upon arrival there was a small group of people waiting outside, and Anders, after casting a worried glance at the warrior, came forward to help them. 

 

A couple hours passed this way, with Anders healing and Fenris a silent hand helping him.  To those who'd not yet had the pleasure of the warrior's company it would be easy to mistake it for normality, but for those who had, the disquiet was surprisingly clear. There were a few questions, but neither Fenris nor Anders spoke of their trip to kill the warrior's former master.  Knowledge was a powerful thing, -and though the healer trusted these people with one of his major secrets, it was up to Fenris to decide what _he_ would share. 

 

No one stayed longer than it took for them to be healed, and shortly Fenris and Anders found themselves alone again.  Working with what the past hours had dictated, Anders stayed silent, puttering around the clinic as he waited to see if Fenris would say anything. 

 

And, when it was nearly dark, he did. 

 

“Anders?”  Fenris asked as the healer finished organizing a pile of empty potion vials. 

 

When nothing more seemed forthcoming, Anders brushed off his hands and stood to give the warrior his full attention.  Fenris had been through a lot today.  If he needed someone to speak to about his former master, Anders would be there for him.

 

“Yes?”

 

Fenris seemed disinclined to speak quickly, but the healer found it surprisingly easy to be patient.  Not even Justice was prodding at him to stop wasting time and do something.  It made sense, he supposed, as this was a part of healing.  Fenris needed help, Anders would provide.  At the moment nothing mattered more than that.  Though Anders could’ve sworn he could hear someone digging, somewhere. A shovel striking the dirt repeatedly in muted thumps, then light pitters of the earth being tossed to the side.

 

“When we were fighting, back in the mansion,” The warrior  began slowly, kicking a little at the ground.  “I noticed something I didn’t understand, and I’d hoped you could explain.”  The hole they were digging was quickly getting deeper, the dips and pauses the warrior was allowing into his speech filled by the sound of a pile of dirt growing larger.  Distantly Anders wondered what was being dug. “I’ve thought it over, and I don’t think I’m mistaken.  In fact I think I’ve seen it before, in small flashes here and there.  Dismissed, because they never amounted to anything, but now I want to know. 

 

“I’ve seen it, in mages who’ve succumbed to blood magic.  The demons split through their skin, through their eyes, and turn the mage into something else.  An abomination.”  The shovel hit rock with a clang, and the healer froze as he finally understood what was going on.  “Your skin split with blue at the mansion, and before I’ve seen your eyes turn the same color.  Why?”

 

Anders had lived in Darktown for months, with the Wardens for years, and seen many people die and be buried.  Yet even with all his experience, he didn’t think he’d ever heard of a grave being dug quite so fast.   


	14. Fenris

Anders stared at Fenris like he’d seen a ghost, and the warrior felt sick. 

 

In the fight, Fenris’ first thought had been abomination.  Then there was the cool tinge of healing magic against his pained brands and said thought had dissolved.  Demons, shades, and arcane horrors needed killing, he didn’t have time for wondering about those on his own side.  A foolish choice, in retrospect, but also one that luckily didn’t lead to anything.  Not until now. 

 

Fenris hadn’t meant to ask, had planned on watching and waiting, but the thought of the Deep Roads hanging over his head, the disappointment and relief over not facing his master, and the fatigue from the fight had the words spilling out into the open.  And every second Anders didn’t reply was another moment in which Fenris’ horror rose. 

 

"Alright." Anders finally broke the silence, looking down at the ground and clenching his jaw. ”Alright, I'll tell you.  But the clinic needs to be closed first."

 

That did nothing to alleviate any of Fenris' worries, but he still gave a short nod of acceptance, resigning himself to stewing for a little while longer. 

 

Anders motions were stiff as he blew out the lantern and closed and locked the doors.  In contrast, Fenris’ were smooth and languid, a false front of calm as he sat down at the desk, unable and unwilling to shift out of the defensive mask he'd automatically fallen into.

 

It was only minutes, but the time it took the mage to shut down the clinic felt like forever.  Fenris would've offered to help, but he was afraid he'd end up tearing Anders heart out if he stood, and then he’d never get an answer to his question. 

 

Yes, his first thought had been ‘abomination’ and even now he didn’t have a second.  The knowledge that Anders must be—or at some point must’ve been—an abomination was etched deeply into Fernis’ mind.  All past experiences with mages spontaneously glowing had ended at that, he didn’t see that this one would end any differently.  Despite this certainty, there was still a tiny part of him that believed, that _hoped_ that he was wrong, and that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.  And it seemed that as long as that part remained, he couldn’t attack his friend.  

 

Finally Anders sat on the cot beside the desk, fidgeting with a feather off his coat. ”Alright.”  He repeated himself again, then met the warrior’s eyes.  “First off, I want you to know that this wasn't going to be a secret.  It had to be at first, but I was going to tell you as soon as you weren't reliant on me."

 

Fenris frowned, "I can take care of myself." _I don't need help, especially from a mage._   Saying such would taste a lie.  He had been the recipient of a lot of help these past days.

 

"Oh I know! Definitely no arguments there." Anders sat back, holding his hands up defensively. ”But you didn't have another place to stay in case you wanted to leave, and it wouldn't have been right of me to spring this on you when you didn't have a fall back."

 

"In case I wanted to leave." The warrior sounded it out.  This became less and less promising with each word out of the mage’s mouth.  ”Cease your tip-toeing and tell me."

 

"Right.  But unfortunately there's going to be a little more tip-toeing because you need backstory to help understand." Anders paused and Fenris tilted his head in acceptance.  Backstory was fine.  It might even stop him murdering the mage as soon as he got around to admitting that he was a-

 

The train of thought cut off there.  An abomination?  A consorter with demons?  Nothing he could think of was even remotely positive. 

 

"Starting off, how much do you know about spirit healers?" Anders inquired

 

The warrior shook his head. ”Little.  I know Danarius thought them weak and timid, but beyond that only what the name suggests."

 

The mage snorted somewhat inappropriately.  ”A magister who uses blood magic and plays with demons thinks we're weak?  I guess I’ll have to take that as a complement.”  The light smirk faded fast. “But on a more serious note, do you understand what a spirit is?  The difference between them and demons?"

 

He did _not_ like where this was going.  He hadn’t liked it from the beginning, and he didn’t like it now.  Still, he had decided to hear Anders out, so, "No.  I don't know that there is one."

 

"There is." Anders immediately assured.  “Demons embody well, evil things.  Rage, pride, greed.  Spirits embody good things.  Compassion, joy, justice.  They don't, the spirits, I mean, don't want to leave the fade.  They don't really care for the goings-on of mortals."

 

"Right."

 

Having made no effort to make it sound convincing, Fenris wasn’t surprised when the mage’s face fell.  Still, the warrior couldn't believe that there were good things in the fade.  All he'd ever seen come out of it had been monstrous.  The thought that Anders dealt with creatures in the fade, that he might've even let one inside him while they were fighting and Fenris was trusting him at his back...

 

"They exist, I promise.  And they're good-" he cut himself off, shaking his head instead of repeating himself and dragging things out even further.  “So spirit healers work with these spirits.  We ask them for help, and depending on what they embody or what kind of connection we have with them, they grant it.”  Something of Fenris’ disgust at the thought must’ve crept out through the mask he wore, as Anders rushed to explain, “They’re not like demons at all.  They don’t want to be in the mortal world, they don’t want to possess anything.  The only thing they come out here for is healing, on the battlefield, in a clinic, where ever help is needed.”

 

To his credit, Anders did seem to want to explain, but as if he just couldn’t quite figure out how.  Fenris couldn’t blame him, he didn’t know either. 

 

The whole of idea of dealing with _anything_ from the fade was horrific.  Especially when it was someone Fenris had come to trust.  He'd come to terms with trusting a mage, but how the hell was he supposed to come to terms with trusting someone who dealt with spirits, or demons masquerading as spirits?  Fenris was doubtful of the existence of spirits altogether, still though, having heard about them before in derision and now in a sort of hopefulness, he could admit they probably existed.  Not that their existence changed the fact that they were from the fade, and so like everything else, inherently evil, no matter what virtues they pretended to employ.

 

 “Who decides what form ‘help’ takes?  Or whether something is a spirit or a demon?”  Fenris asked after realizing the silence was there for him to respond. 

 

“We collaborate.”  Anders had long since broken and dropped the feather and was now fiddling with his hands, sending Fenris darting glances.  Concern, fear, whatever it was, it did not look good on the mage. ”Spirit healers show the spirit what’s wrong, and the spirit decides how they can help or augment our magic.  If we both agree, then healing gets done.”

 

“And if you don’t?”  Fenris cut in, flexing his own hands in something a little more violent. 

 

The mage shrugged again. “Then the spirit healer cuts off the connection.  It’s rare though, for a spirit to not understand how to help so badly that they’d actively disagree or refuse to be shown, and I’ve never heard of anyone needing to even fight off a possession.  The spirit realizes that they can’t help, and they leave.”  He paused for a second to see if the warrior had anything else to ask before moving onto the next question. “And that’s the tricky part.  Why Templars consider us only a step below blood mages.  We always have to be on guard when dealing with spirits, in case they _are_ demons masquerading as something more helpful.  Anyone who pursues this branch of healing needs to know, to be absolutely certain that they can differentiate between a demon and a spirit.  It takes years of training, and constant vigilance.

 

“But once a mage has built a good rapport with a spirit, enough so that they’d even think of forming the link needed to perform spirit healing, they’ve spent enough time together that there’s little chance of not recognizing a demon.”  Anders assured. “Then we go back to the same spirit each time, unless the spirit has died, or gone far enough away in the fade that they can’t be reached.  We form the spirit equivalent of friendships.”

 

A cold smile flitted across Fenris’ lips, but he was anything but happy. “And when you make a mistake?  When you deal with a demon instead of a spirit, and kill those you’re trying to help?  Is that not what the Templars are for?  Constant vigilance to ensure that you don’t become an abomination?” 

 

Parroting the mage’s own words back at him was not nearly as satisfying when Fenris had already imagined Anders locked up in a circle and found the image wanting. 

 

“I do _not_ need to be under a Templar’s control.  Maybe in the beginning that’s what they were for, but all the pain and fear they create is the cause of more blood mages and abominations than it’s prevented.”  Anders shut his mouth with a snap, closing his eyes and forcibly calming himself.  When he looked at the warrioragain the anger had died almost completely, overtaken by a contrasting hesitance.  “But that won’t happen.  At least not to me.” 

 

“Why not.”  It didn’t come out a question, the answer already swirling in Fenris’ mind.  His gauntlet’s talons made sharp tapping noises where he drummed them on the desk.

 

Anders straightened.  “Okay, okay.  Sorry.  I’ll get to it, I promise.  A little more backstory first though.  I never, umm, told you why I left the Wardens, did I?”  A headshake confirmed this. ”Right.  Well, did I tell you about Justice?”  Another headshake. ”Right.  Okay, that, is unfortunate, but oh well, I’ll tell you now.”

 

In a to the point fashion that was still far too slow for Fenris’ liking, Anders proceeded to tell him parts of the story regarding his stint in the Wardens.  In short form, of course, both of them far too high strung for him to take a long time on details, but Fenris got the gist of matters. 

 

Anders had been conscripted, and at one point in his travels with the Warden Commander they had come across a certain spirit.  A pride demons machinations had forced the spirit out of the fade and into the body of a dead Grey Warden, and so Justice began to work and travel alongside them.  Short narrations of how much Anders had loved and celebrated his freedom, up until a Templar named Rolan joined the Wardens, specifically placed there to keep watch on the mage.  How his ‘watch’ had turned stifling, confining like the walls of the Circle were closing in again.  How the freedom Anders had sought so desperately turned into yet another cage.

 

The whole time Fenris grew tenser, aware now, however distantly, of how the story ended.  But surely Anders hadn’t, surely he wouldn’t be _that_ foolish…  It was a fool’s hope, but as a former slave of a mage living by his own free will with another mage, was he not a fool?

 

“I wasn’t free anymore, Rolan wouldn’t leave me alone.  I couldn’t go anywhere that he wasn’t lurking.” Anders let out a long breath, having long since lost whatever courage it took to meet the warrior’s eyes. ”Justice was still trapped outside the fade in a rotting body, and with Rolan there he was slowly realizing the kind of injustices mages face here.  He accused me of sloth because while I'd speak about the injustices we faced if it was relevant, I didn't do anything to bring about any change.  I was content to be saved myself, and while I would've helped other mages if the chance presented itself, I didn't actively search one out.”

 

 _Don’t say it_.  Fenris felt frozen with a mix of fear and anger, and if he could’ve moved he might’ve shaken his head, reached out and put an end to this.

 

If Anders didn’t say it, if he stopped right there then they could continue to live in blissful ignorance, tending to the clinic while Fenris waited for his master to come and try and collect him.  Blissful, until Anders moved too fast one day, or appeared where Fenris hadn’t expected him, or used this spirit healing where the warrior could see, and they’d end with the mage’s heart crushed in Fenris’ hand, the secret still unspoken between them. 

 

The ignorance had already been broken.  It was already too late.

 

“He needed help that I could offer, and together we could do something to help the mages that were, are still prisoners to the Templars whims.” Now it seemed that courage, or perhaps it was more fear, had won out and the mage again met the warrior’s eyes. “We came to an agreement, and he left Kristoff’s corpse to inhabit my body.  Possess me.”

 

There was a curious ringing sound coming from somewhere in the clinic, but it didn’t matter enough for Fenris to seek it out.  Words came as if from someplace far away.  ”Possess you?  Did I hear correctly?  You are an, abomination?” 

 

“No.  Well, not an abomination.  I’m possessed, but by a spirit, not a demon.  Abominations are created when demons possess mages.”  Anders corrected in a quick ramble.  His voice sounded as funny as Fenris’ own. ”Justice and I are one, but we’re still separate.  We could, I could let him out so you could meet him?  You’d see, I promise he means no harm.”

 

Fenris wasn’t aware of moving, only that he was now standing a meter behind the desk and away from Anders.  The mage’s face fell, but Fenris was too busy trying to suppress steadily rising anger to take notice. 

 

He’d known from the very beginning of Anders speaking about Justice, but it was only now that he could truly think without that damnable piece of hope coloring his vision. 

 

The mage was an abomination.  The same as many that Danarius had told Fenris to strike down, after the magister himself had been the one to force them to the hands of demons.  The warrior could remember the fights, how taxing they were, how the creatures pulled on his brands in lieu of using resisted magic on him, and how he’d screamed.  Every time he’d fought an abomination he’d ended it in agony, forcing himself to stay upright only through the thought that he had to be good for Danarius.  That Danarius would have to punish him if he let himself falter and embarrass the magister, and being an embarrassment would be a far harsher punishment than any pain an abomination could cause.

 

Danarius wasn’t here though.  It was _Fenris’_ choice as to whether the abomination died, and he knew the correct answer. 

 

“Do it.” 

 

Again words left him without his permission, but he clenched his jaws, refusing to take them back.  Wouldn’t it be better if he saw the creature now?  Saw whatever lie Anders had told himself that he could _live_ with himself as this kind of monster?  The creature would attack him, Fenris would kill it, and it would all be over. 

 

Fenris would kill it, and in the process also kill Anders.   He couldn’t let himself die at the hands of anyone, so he would have to kill Anders.  Why was that such a hard thing to swallow?  He knew he would if it came down to it, but it didn’t bring him the usual satisfaction of one less mage in the world.

 

“Are you-” Anders cut himself off, standing slowly as if Fenris was some wild animal he wanted to tame.  The mage began again. “You don’t need to be scared of him Fenris.  I like you, Justice likes you.  He does want to meet you face to face, but only if you’re okay with it.”

 

Fenris clenched his jaw at the accusation of fear, barely opening it to snarl, “Venhedis, do it!” 

 

Better here, where there was no one else around to get hurt when the spirit, the demon, the creature attacked.   

 

Though he still looked wary, the mage nodded, biting his lip.  There was a moment in which they were both silent minus that high ringing noise, and then blue light overtook the mage’s brown eyes, cracks of it spreading out over his face, the creature inside peering out into the mortal world. 

 

Fenris stared at the abomination who in turn stared back at him.  Blue shone out in seams through Anders’ robes, flickering and splitting into view.  Nothing like abominations Fenris had seen before, but still wrong, still something that was when it shouldn’t be.  Whatever malevolence the creature exuded did not quite reach him, but the warrior could feel the edges of it in his brands.  The lyrium crawled and burned, the patch on his hip that didn’t hurt having never been so obvious in the way it almost hummed in response to the abomination. Had _it_ left something behind?

 

 **”Hello Fenris.”** The creature spoke, Anders’ voice overlapping with a stronger, deeper tone.  **”I am Justice.”**

 

He had no idea what to say.  What _did_ one say when facing an abomination that pretended to be friendly when violence was what had been, was still expected?  Fenris knew it was only a matter of time before the creature showed it’s true reasoning for possessing Anders, there was no way he was in this simply to help. Perhaps not to him right now, perhaps not to him ever, but one day Anders would find innocent blood on his hands, helplessly watching out from behind glowing blue eyes.

 

“You should leave Anders” There was no conscious decision to speak, once again the words coming out before he could do anything to stop them.  His mouth seemed to pluck through scattered thoughts and ideas, verbalizing them in a way far more collected than he actually was. ”You don’t belong here, in him.  Why don’t you leave?”

 

The creature tilted Anders’ head, the movement stiff and inhuman.  **“Anders has already said as such.  I am trapped here.”**  

 

“Explain.”  He demanded, his hand going to his sword hilt and his brands lighting with power and agony when the spirit took a step forward.

 

At the lyrium’s activation the abomination’s expression softened, but he moved forward no further, now seemingly content to stay where he was.  Unnerved, Fenris wondered what effect his brands had on the creature.  He thought he might know.  Demon’s had always been drawn with joy to the pure lyrium, that this thing was as well did not speak well for the distinction between them. 

 

“ **When a mage is possessed, both their soul and the spirit or demon is still in the Fade, merely looking out at the mortal world through the mage’s eyes.  I was torn completely from the fade, and do not know how to get back.”**  

 

It sounded simple, when put like that, but Fenris shook his head, demanding more, “Why aren’t you looking for a solution then?  Shouldn’t you be trying to return?” 

 

The creature frowned, his brows furrowing in something Fenris could only interpret as anger.  ” **There is much injustice in this world.  Anders showed me the injustice done to mages, and you show me the injustice done to those who are called slaves.  It is unjust, and justice must be done.”**

Justice.  How could the abomination speak of mages, slaves, and justice all in the same breath?  Magic bred evil, with Anders an exception- But was Anders really an exception anymore?  He’d given in to this, this _thing_.  Nothing was as it had seemed.  Anders could've been playing him this whole time, biding his time, gaining his trust and-

 

No.  Anders was weak.  Not evil.

 

Abruptly rage washed in again, and Fenris took another step back, forcibly releasing the sword’s hilt so he wouldn’t draw it and strike the creature down where it stood.  There was no more reason for him to keep from killing the other, no more reason but the fact that this abomination had saved his life, protected him, and fought with him.  Abomination still, but Fenris could not, in any good conscience, kill him until he snapped and attacked himself or the innocent.  Yet looking at the creature now, the bright light that spoke of something that shouldn’t be, Fenris wished he could.  The spirit had preyed on Anders, and Anders had given in.  With a mage, that was deserving of death.

 

“Let Anders back out.”  Fenris demanded, the desire to understand overtaken by the urge to kill the creature who taken over the features of his—friend? enemy? 

 

And how was that for leaving a bitter taste in his mouth?  He’d begun to consider the mage his friend, and now he found out that Anders had been, while not lying, certainly omitting a giant part of the picture he’d known Fenris would hate. 

 

While the thing did look displeased, its tone and words did not mirror it.  ” **I would speak with you more, tonight or when we return from the Deep Roads.  You have suffered great injustices at the hands of those who elsewhere suffer great injustice.  Such a thing does not make sense to me, and Anders cannot explain it.”** Despite its words, the cracks that announced its presence started to close, the creature pulling itself back inside Anders. 

 

A light shiver ran down Fenris’ spine. 

 

He’d always been a quick thinker, as a slave he’d needed to be.  Even so, he’d just come to the realization that this meant there had been a spirit, a creature of the fade present every single time he’d been with Anders.  A third entity who had developed its own thoughts and opinions on Fenris, while Fenris remained unaware. 

 

“Fenris?”  Anders’ soft, hesitant voice stopped him from running further with that thought.   

 

They were both a twisted creature, but the differences between them was just as startling when comparing the man to the creature. 

 

“You’re an abomination.”  A small snarl tinted the edges of the words. 

 

Speaking with the thing face to face was one thing, but this was Anders.  Anders who had let it in.  Had accepted what it had told him, and allowed the possession. 

 

“I’m not.  Justice is a spirit.” The mage grimaced, “I am possessed though, as, I guess you saw.  Not evil though”

 

“Fasta vass, you’re a fool.”

 

There really wasn’t much else to say.  Fenris could go on about how weak he was, scream about how he was a danger and needed to be watched.  It wouldn’t change anything.  Whatever had happened, had happened in the past.  Shoving the mage’s face in how fucking wrong he was to have allowed himself to become an abomination wouldn’t change that it had been done.  All that remained was to choose what he would do now, in the split seconds he had to decide. 

 

His immediate gut reaction was to kill the mage.  He’d succumbed to a fade creature and became its host.  Two beings with the capacity to do a lot of damage, one who was tainted with the fade’s evil and the other a product _of_ the fade.  He should slay the abomination, it was the only intelligent route to take.  Fenris knew he could take Anders.  A quick step forward, his fist in the mage’s head or heart.  It would be easy.  That was of course, not taking the fade creature into account.  Who knew how its reactions would factor.  Perhaps it would be quicker than Fenris and this would turn into a fight, perhaps it wouldn’t be quick enough. 

 

The decision had been made and Fenris knew the way his face had screwed up in hatred spoke of it, yet there was still something holding him back.  Something keeping his fingers clenching around air instead of a hilt, his brands lit, but not at the expense of Anders’ heart.  He didn’t, _want_ to kill him.  Somewhere in his mind there was a hold out, and though he tried, he couldn’t get past it.

 

“We don’t have to go to the Deep Roads,” Anders ventured as the silence grew too long, “Justice is the one who actually wants to go.  But if you want to talk… Or!” He backtracked momentarily, “We could go, give you some space.  It’s not so bad, if you look past the darkspawn, the couple tons of rock sitting above you, and the whole malevolent darkness thing.  Practically a vacation destination.  Plus you’d have time to hopefully decide not to kill me or turn me in to the Templars...”

 

The mage trailed off and Fenris stared at him incredulously.  He knew Anders used humor as a defence, but for pity’s sake, couldn’t he understand that now was not the time? 

 

“Fine.” Fenris stated, his voice ice.  “Go with Hawke.”

 

Anders blinked. 

 

“To the Deep Roads.”  It really shouldn’t need clarifying, but there Fenris was, doing so anyways.  “Go with Hawke.  You'll most likely survive, you're a Grey Warden, and an, _abomination_ , so it isn't like you wouldn't do anything to stop death from touching you already.  And if you do die,” Fenris shrugged, satisfaction welling up at the distress on the mage’s face, “Then you’re not my problem anymore.”

 

“I’m not-” Anders began, a mix of hurt and defiance waring in his expression.

 

Fenris cut him off.  “Shut up.”  A glare made sure Anders stayed silent.  Fenris continued.  “I will leave this place and you will sleep.  When you wake tomorrow you will meet up with Hawke and not step foot in Kirkwall until she's gotten from there whatever she needs.”

 

That, however, was just foisting the problem off onto someone else for the time being.  While said problem would be of great help to Hawke, being a Grey Warden and all, it would be better if she knew about the abomination in her companions.  Then at least she’d be able to watch him, and be prepared if he was to snap.  The mage opened his mouth to respond, but once again Fenris silenced him with a look. 

 

Was this such a good idea?  Wouldn’t he more likely to break if he was in the Deep Roads, a place for which he’d already expressed his distaste?  And Hawke had a mage sister who might also turn to the fade’s creatures after seeing the other mage do so.  Still, she hadn’t snapped yet, and that proved that Hawke knew how to watch over a mage already.  By what little he knew of her and her sister, they both had gone through escaping the blight in Ferelden and the loss of a sibling, both excellent excuses for mages to become abominations.  Hawke had practice and would be okay, Fenris decided.  She could guard Anders while the mage attempted to help them traverse the Deep Roads. 

 

“Tell Hawke what you are.”  The warrior decided, unable to resist adding viciously, “She needn't make such a trip without knowing about the snake in her ranks.”

 

That evidently hit a nerve, but after the initial sting it was not quite the one he’d been expecting.  Fenris’ words were cutting the mage—something he knew he’d regret later, maybe—but he also looked a little, guilty?  Ah fuck, what else.

 

Anders winced at the continuous glare the warrior was shooting him, then admitted, “She already knows.  When we found Karl and the templars tried to trap us, Justice came out.” 

 

Hawke already knew.  Of course she did.  Did she know he hadn’t?

 

“Bah.” He spat, deciding to focus on what was here and explainable.  Right now it didn’t matter what Hawke knew or didn’t know.  “Already you admit that you can't control the thing.”

 

“We were defending ourselves! They'd already made Karl tranquil for no reason, they'd have done the same to us.”  Anders fired back, the mention of his former lover enough to bring the fire in his eyes to the forefront, instead of simmering behind whatever desire the mage had to, to what?  Make nice with Fenris?

 

“Because you are an abomination” Fenris shifted his weight, hating this conversation.  “Exactly the reason tranquillity is used in the Free Marches.”

 

“I'm not an abomination!”  That word seemed to hit especially hard with the mage.  “Justice is a spirit, and a friend.  And I thought you didn't like tranquillity, you said so, after Karl.” A faint edge of hysteria tinted these last words, and Fenris wondered distantly if this would turn physical after all.  He was keenly aware that such a thing would be fatal to at least one of them.  An event he would prefer not—really didn’t want—to come to pass.

 

“Just because I'm not fond of it doesn't mean I don't know it has its uses.  Vasta fas.”  He swore, wanting an end already.  The mage had withheld pertinent information, were they really going to discuss the merits of tranquility next?

 

“So you think it should be used on me because of Justice?” Anders spat, then his eyes widened and he shook his head. “No, please don't answer that.  But, haven't you seen the work we do here? We aren't evil Fenris, please, we're exactly the same as before.”

 

“Yet now I know the whole story, don't I?”  The last was voiced more as a question than Fenris would’ve liked, but he couldn’t take for granted that he would be told everything.  He didn’t know why he had.  How foolish he was, the escaped slave.

 

“It doesn't change that I,” Anders didn’t answer, and something inside Fenris went cold.  “That _we_ want to protect you, to help you.”

 

“I'm supposed to believe that? You asked me for trust and by your own choices have already broken it.  You deceived me.” He returned, advancing a step.  The mage countered with a step back of his own, and Fenris stopped, keenly aware of the contrast between the abomination advancing on the warrior and now the mage running from him.  Closing his eyes momentarily and taking a deep breath, Fenris let it out in a sigh.  “I should've known, I suppose.”

 

“What, because I'm a mage?”  Anders phrased it as if the very thought was incredulous, and Fenris couldn’t believe how naive he was being.

 

“Yes.”

 

Again, he had no idea why the mage looked so taken aback by the warrior’s blunt response.  It was true.  What had mages ever done to him but lie, manipulate, and take advantage?  He knew, somewhere in the far corners of his mind that he was being a little unfair and a little vile, that the mage had healed him and helped him and expected nothing but understanding in return, but he was too betrayed to take note.  That sadistic part of him that he’d always hated was jockeying for control, and it was a constant fight to not let it rule.  For that matter, why shouldn't he?  No, no, he'd regret it, even if the mage died at his hand.  Anger was no excuse for cruelty.

 

There was enough silence that Fenris was debating just leaving before the conversation would have too many regrets, then Anders spoke again, his voice a whisper that rose in volume.  “I wasn't, I didn't _choose_ to be born a mage, I didn't choose to be thrown in the Circle, I didn’t choose for that damn Templar to come back and take away my freedom yet again, the only thing I did choose was to help Justice, and if there had been any other way I would've taken it!”

 

“But he promised you justice for your mages. Is that not what demons do, promise a loaded gift? And you fell for it.”  That was the core.  Anders was weak.  He’d fallen prey to a demon’s, a spirit’s temptation, and now he paid the price for it.

 

“He was my friend! And Fenris please, I consider you my friend too.”  Anders opened and closed his mouth without saying anything, eyes casting about wildly before meeting Fenris’ gaze and holding it.  Taking a deep breath, he continued.  “I know this is hard to hear, I know it would've been easier if I didn't have Justice, but I do.  Can you at least consider it? I still want your friendship.”

 

Friendship.  A possessed mage was standing across from him and asking, practically _begging_ for friendship.  Sometimes Fenris wondered if he really had escaped, or if this was all an elaborate illusion brought on from his own mind snapping after slaughtering the Fog Warriors.  How else was it to be explained?

 

He sighed, the fight having mostly drained from his with Anders’ begging.  It didn’t really matter what else he said.  Words wouldn’t make this better, only worse.  In his fear he was being cruel, and in the mage’s fear, Anders was fluctuating between defiance and pleading.  None of which would get them anywhere.

 

As a slave he’d needed to make snap decisions on the fly, calculating odds, judging outcomes, and acting all within the space of seconds.  He wasn’t a slave anymore.

 

“Go to the Deep Roads.” Fenris sighed, turning away from the mage and walking towards the door without waiting for a response, stiff with preparation for feeling the stirring of magic at his back. 

 

“Fenris,” Anders protested, but the warrior didn’t pause as he shook his head.

 

Pausing with one hand on the door and the other clenched at his side, Fenris glanced back into the clinic, unable to meet the abominations eyes before he was looking away again. 

 

“Goodnight Anders.”


	15. Anders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful comments and kudos! You people are amazing!

Anders stared after the warrior, hurt and angry. 

 

Logically he knew that it could’ve gone so much worse, but the cruelty with which Fenris had spoken to the healer got in the way of whatever relief he might’ve felt.  He’d expected the accusations, expected the way the warrior had grasped his sword, even expected—though he’d hoped he didn’t have to hear—the casual way Fenris dismissed the idea of him dying.  The expectations had done nothing to prepare him for the reality.  It hurt.

 

’ ** _The Singing Elf thinks us an abomination_**.’ Justice's voice was a quiet rumble of discontent.

 

The spirit had been something like happy when he'd come out to meet Fenris, but the words the warrior had used for them dampened his positivity.  It was a product of how focused spirits were on a single thing that Justice had anticipated Fenris would immediately agree with his statement on the great injustices in the world.  He wasn’t angry at Fenris for the rejection however, simply displeased. 

 

Anders snorted and flopped down, misjudging the placement of the cot behind him and ending up on the floor, back up against the poor mattress.

 

“Are you surprised? I'm amazed he didn't just attack us.” The healer bowed his head now, pressing his fingers hard into his temples in an effort to stave off the stress headache he could feel forming.

 

The memory of Fenris standing in front of them, facing Justice with his brands lit and his hand on his sword wasn't one Anders was likely to forget anytime soon.  The way he'd looked at them, like they were disgusting, like _Anders_ was disgusting.  But he wasn't dead and it could've gone worse.  All the healer had to do was keep on telling himself that, and maybe, eventually, it would make things better.

 

**_'What will you do about Fenris now?  You wished for him to work here with you’_ **

 

Anders winced.  Hearing Justice that uncertain—not very, but then again Justice was almost never uncertain—was still a new thing, and not one he necessarily liked.  Sure, it was amusing when the spirit encountered some out of the fade custom that stumped him.  However Justice’ lack of comprehension related to people forsaking justice often turned to anger, and was only another reminder of how being out of the fade was affecting him.  How being with Anders was affecting him.

 

In his disquiet he fell back on snark.  “What, you don't have any ideas? You have an opinion on everything else”

 

**_'That was unjust.'_ **

 

Yes, yes it was.  Anders let out a long sigh, running his hand through his hair.  _Abomination_.  _Snake_.  Yet it could still have gone so much worse.

 

The confusion disappeared under a sense of satisfaction that exuded from Justice and the spirit stated, **_'Now is not the time for sloth.  The clinic needs to be readied for the next week_** '

 

' _Shit, right._ ' He'd almost forgotten, despite that being nearly the last thing Fenris had said. 

 

They were going back to the Deep Roads. 

 

Both Fenris and Justice insisted, and in the end Anders _did_ wish to help Hawke.  So that was it.  They'd head out to the Deep Roads and come back to either death by Fenris or by Templars.  Or perhaps the warrior would just leave, not wanting to associate with the 'abomination', and Anders would never see him again. 

 

 ** _'Anders_** '

 

“Oh come on! Can't I have a single moment to wallow?" Anders protested the spirit’s chastising.

 

A distinctly negative answer was all he got to that.

 

 _'Fine_.' he gave in, too upset to admit he was grateful for the distraction.

 

 

It took a lot to get a clinic ready for a week or so away, and in the following night Anders found little time to mope or sleep.  Too busy writing letters, cleaning, and collecting potions until the early hours of the morning.  Even when the Darktown noises of waking started to fill the clinic he was still on autopilot, locating urchins who'd take a coin and deliver a message in return. 

 

 ** _'We need to meet Hawke now.'_** Justice's demand finally broke through Anders' work, having escalated from a soft but insistent prodding in the back of his head.

 

 _'So much still needs to be done’_ the healer fretted, fervently wishing that Hawke had given him at least a little more time to prepare.

 

Since Fenris arrived he'd not spent nearly enough time at the clinic.  Not that the warrior was to blame, or that he'd change anything if he could, it was just a simple fact.  Leaving for this week, week and a half, however long it stretched out; it wasn't a good practice.

 

 ** _'It will be taken care of.  Lirene is a just woman, she will understand and help.'_**   It might be consolatory, if Justice was capable right now of seeing the value in such.  Instead it was a push for him to leave, to grab the rest of his things and just go already.

 

 _'Fine'_ Anders dropped off the empty bottles he'd been collecting in a random basket and began to pack.  The pillow from his mother, the meager amount of spare clothes he owned, lyrium potions, health potions, a blanket, they all went into Anders' bag.  He would've left any unnecessary objects behind, had he owned any. 

 

Once he was finished he took a last check, though scouring his room for things he should take only produced the metal wax Fenris had left behind, giving him a lovely reminder that the warrior hated him now.  Not so gentle prodding from the spirit had him quickly picking himself back up and moving on, misery once again swirling around his mind.

 

Closing the clinic so early yet again felt wrong, but it was necessary and Anders left with fresh worries running through his mind.  The people of Darktown would manage without a magical clinic for the week.  They'd managed before Anders had come, and they could do it again.  They didn't need him.  Fenris didn't need him.  Hawke only needed him for the Deep Roads, and he didn't even own a cat who would miss him.

 

 ** _'The mages need us_.’** Justice pointed out helpfully, breaking into yet another spiral Anders had fallen into.

 

 _’The mages need_ you, _I just happen to be your host.’_  Anders returned bitterly.

 

’ ** _You are wallowing again.’_**

****

****

To little surprise, Justice refused to let Anders work through his emotions by moping, so instead he went over potion recipes whose ingredients could be found in the Deep Roads.  Given that he’d been recently teaching Fenris how to brew potions, it was a plan doomed to failure from the start.  That, combined with meeting the leader of the expedition—who turned out to be both Varric’s brother and potentially a horrible person—led to Anders starting off the expedition in a relatively foul mood.  Not wanting to dampen the spirits of the others he tried not to let it show. 

 

It was hard though, especially when, on only the third day of their trip, they received the news that the path they had chosen from the maps had caved in, and Hawke and Varric volunteered them to find another way around.   

 

He didn’t blame them, it would be faster than trying to clear who knew how much rock, but he really hadn’t needed yet another reason to hate being the Deep Roads.  Then there was a dwarf kid missing that they had to locate.  Not that such was a bad thing, it was just that children didn’t belong in the Deep Roads.  They were supposed to be free and without fear of others or of themselves. 

 

Of course that became something of a moot point when they actually _found_ the dwarf.  The dwarf child and the dead darkspawn scattered across the ground around him.  And the frozen ogre. 

 

If Anders wasn’t sure that dwarfs couldn’t have magic, he’d be positive that this one did.  The enchantment stone he gave Hawke explained some of the carnage, but not all, and definitely not whatever had happened to the ogre. ‘Not enchantment’?  What did that even mean? 

 

Still, they were on a mission, and didn’t have time for questions.  Confident that he’d be fine on his own, they sent the dwarf back the way they came, with the promise that he could make even more things go boom at the dig sight.  Varric’s unsavory brother would love that. 

 

 

Then there were darkspawn emissaries, hurdocks, genlocks, spiders, a _dragon_ , and all the lovely inhabitants that truly made the Deep Roads worth visiting.  They did find a side passage though, even if ended up taking them three days to find the dwarf, locate the side passage, go back to pick up the rest of the expedition, and finally return to said side passage. 

 

Moving into the Primeval Thiag was almost a relief.  Well, not the Thiag itself.  The place felt _wrong_ , like magic that shouldn’t exist.  The glow of lyrium bounced off rocks and supplied them with enough light that torches were optional, but the luminosity was red and slimy feeling instead of the pure blue of normal lyrium with its low hum alighting upon grey rock.  The winter white of brands on dark skin, the song of them beautiful despite the agony they’d caused. 

 

No, Anders was only relieved about it because it meant that they were that much closer to going home.  Home.  A tiny space in the back of a run-down clinic where no one was waiting for him. 

 

He tried to not be miserable, but the whole time Anders was torn between lamenting the fact that he was in the Deep Roads, worrying about the clinic, and fretting over going back to living alone now that Fenris was gone.  The former two were welcome distractions when they diverted his and Justice’s attention from Fenris’ abandonment.  Well, Anders’ attention mostly, Justice was still patiently waiting for Fenris to be reasonable about the whole thing; ignoring Anders’ remarks that he’d been quite reasonable just by not attacking them. 

 

Though he tried not to let the others notice, there were very few happy thoughts making their way through the healer's head and it was obvious they were aware of his mood.  And he really had tried to hide it.  The people he was with, scratch that, _some_ of the people he was with, were people he really would like to become friends with. 

 

Hawke, for one was a wonderful person.  Then again he’d know that since she came with him to the chantry to rescue Karl, and then tried to awkwardly comfort him even after finding out about Justice.  The ease with which she took control, her kindness in dealing with those around her.  Anders could see himself following her to the ends of the earth, or potentially falling in love with her.  Maybe both. 

 

Bethany wasn’t someone he’d spoken much with, but they’d had a few conversations since entering the Deep Roads, and Anders thought she was just as amazing as her sister, if a little more innocent, an little less tainted by the world around her.  She’d grown up with fear, like all mages, but in her strength it had become caution and a gentleness that was quickly stamped out of others with their gift.  Her intelligence was obvious in the short discussions they’d had, and it was apparent that she wanted to help her fellow mages, but wasn’t sure how.  The healer couldn’t wait until he could speak with her above ground, when the oppression of the Deep Roads wasn’t closing in on him and making everything that happened seem a hundred times worse. 

 

The one Anders was most familiar with was Varric.  He didn’t know nearly as much of the dwarf’s history as he did the Hawke sisters, but felt as though he could trust him almost implacably nevertheless.  He was a storyteller, and while it sometimes felt like the healer was a character in his book, it was also obvious he loved his characters.  He cared, and tried to help without being overbearing unless it was necessary.  The corner of his mouth tugged up in a grin.  The healer in Anders could appreciate that.

 

“And there’s the Blondie we all know and love!”

 

“First off,” Anders automatically fired back, refusing to startle at the sudden address and very carefully turning to look at Varric.  “We barely know each other and I have a requirement that I be taken out for dinner at least once before love comes anywhere near the picture.  Second, me being blonde is not my most prominent trait, we both know you love me for my singing.” 

 

“You wound me!” Varric gasped with a hand over his heart.  “I really thought we had something.  How could I live without your positively delightful voice? ”

 

“Please,” Anders snorted, “You’re too far gone on that crossbow to even think of looking at someone else.”

 

“She is a very special lady” The dwarf nodded, dropping the act and patting the crossbow fondly.  Then his voice went serious.  “Though I take it things didn’t go quite as well with yours.”

 

Anders stiffened, automatically glancing around.  “And I take it you’re speaking of Fenris.”

 

“I know you hadn’t told him about your really close friend before we cleaned out his mansion.”  Varric nimbly picked his way through a scattering of rocks  “Then the next day you looked like someone-” A pause, then, “Ah, no, I can’t think of a good one.  Like you had to give up your cat again?  Anyways, there’s a certain conclusion I’m coming to.”  

 

‘ _Looked like someone…’_   It wasn’t hard to figure out that Varric had been about to suggest someone he loved died.  With Karl having not been gone long, Anders was grateful that the dwarf had censored himself.  Karl’s brightness had no place here, swallowed by darkness and thousand year abandonment. 

 

It took a lot of effort to continue walking as if unaffected, made redundant by the way his voice hitched when he attempted a casual reply, “We are in the Deep Roads you know, which isn’t a very happy place, and it’s been six days since then.  You don’t think your timing is a little off?”

 

“At first I figured it was just about returning here, but once the thought was there, well.” Varric shrugged.  “Not my quickest moment, I’ll admit.”

 

“I see.” 

 

“You want to talk about it?”  Varric prodded a little more.

 

Anders shook his head jerkily.  He wanted to forget it happened, actually, but as that wasn’t possible, he’d settle for ignoring it. 

 

“Alright, but just so you know, I’m really good at listening, whenever you need to talk.”  Continuing before Anders could say he definitely _didn’t_ want to talk, Varric joked, “Plus, down here we’ve got all the time in the world.  Doesn’t take up a lot of brain power to walk.”

 

“You only say that because you have an inherited sense of direction such that you _can’t_ get lost.”  Anders reminded, grateful for the out he’d been given.

 

“Ha, I don’t know about that.  I was born on the surface you know.” 

 

The tension in Anders gradually dissolved as they continued bantering back and forth, eventually turning into real conversation about the fake flamboyance of the Hightown market and then onto who was best to turn to when looking for advice on potions and poisons.  Other than those to do with Restoration of course, they both knew Anders held the monopoly on that.  Their conversation was broken up by encounters with the strange things that lived in the Primeval Thaig, and both Bethany and Hawke joined in at intervals, but the flow was maintained, if not the topic too.  It was the longest conversation they’d had together since leaving on the trip, and the healer found himself greatly enjoying it, glad for the people he was with.

 

 

It was another half-day before they came across some sort of grand room, empty of everything except an idol sitting on an elegant pedestal at the top of an ornate staircase.  There was little else in the room, and they approached the statue, both Anders and Bethany hanging back. 

 

“It feels wrong” Bethany murmured, sending Anders a worried glance.  “That’s not just me right?”

 

He shook his head, “No.  This whole place has felt wrong.  Bad magic.”

 

Reiterating this to Hawke, Anders stared as the idol seemed to flash and gleam in the unchanging light of the Thaig.  Justice was both enthralled and disgusted by it, like a demon working its magic and trying to pull them in.  As focused as he was on the revulsion his fade partner was feeling in reaction, he barely noticed Varric’s brother following them in. 

 

“I don’t like it- no, Marian!”  The younger Hawke sibling gasped, taking a step forward when her sister casually picked up the idol.

 

Anders had to suppress his own reaction, not quite able to stop himself from grabbing his fellow mage’s arm and pulling her back from getting too close to the thing.  With as much ease as Hawke, Varric took it, then threw it to his brother, all while the mages stood tensely aside.

 

“Can you not feel how _wrong_ that is?”  Anders asked the others, turning back to stare at the pedestal it had been on.  Now that the thing was gone, the previously glorious dais seemed as worn and old as the rest of the place.  Like the idol, or perhaps the red magic, the red lyrium inside it had been painting a false picture over its surroundings.

 

“It felt cold, but not wrong.”  Hawke frowned worriedly, “I didn’t even think- I’m okay, and Varric, you don’t feel weird?”

                                           

The dwarf shook his head, but whatever he might’ve said was lost to the loud thud that turned all their heads to the doorway out.  “Bartrand!”  He cried, “It’s shut behind you!” 

 

 “You always did notice everything, Varric” The other brother returned mockingly, his voice muffled by the thick layers of stone the door was made up of.

 

Anders barely heard whatever argument Varric and Hawke had with the betrayer, stumbling back a couple steps and raising his hands to his head, gasping for air.  He was locked away again, locked away in the Deep Roads, unable to get out, to get away, to do anything, the walls were closing in and he was trapped, trapped, and Justice was angry too, was raging, throwing himself to the front of Anders’ mind but unable to do anything, to get them out, to do what was promised, because he had _promised_ Anders he’d never been trapped again, never have his freedom taken away-

 

“Anders!”  Bethany’s voice finally made it through and the healer jerked his head up to look at her, panting heavily and discovering her hands covering his.  “It’s okay, we’ll get out of here.  We’re going to be okay”  Her voice shook, the sounds of Varric and Hawke yelling not helping her argument any.

 

“It won’t.”  He managed, the mercy in the lack of blue light reflecting off her face giving him the capacity to say at least that, “It won’t be.  We’re trapped, we can’t-”

 

Before he could work himself into another panic a wave of healing magic washed through him, and he gave a full body shudder, the familiarity of the spell provided him with another foothold back to full lucidity.  Bethany wasn’t very strong in the Restoration class of magic, but as she sent another touch of healing through him he found himself eternally grateful she was there.  Taking a few more deep breaths Anders turned his hands around to cling at hers. 

 

 _’It’s okay Justice, we’re okay.  We have to be calm.’_ He sent to the spirit, ‘ _Please, you’re not helping.’_

 

“Is Justice okay?”  The girl asked, her voice tentative next to the strong grip she had on Anders’ fingers. 

 

 “He’s fine.”  Anders lied, not wanting to tell her of his anger, his rage.  Spirit’s didn’t feel such negative emotions, no matter that the first time they had joined, fury had been the only thing he could remember.  Fury and blood.  “He’s just, we don’t do well trapped.  Or here.”

 

“Especially not both trapped and here?  As least there’s no Templars right?”

 

It took Anders a moment to realize she was making a joke, and in the short time Bethany was already apologizing, trying to take back her words.  It took Anders another moment to recognize the sound leaving his mouth, and then he found himself laughing, shaking his head to cut her off.

 

“You, oh that’s hilarious.”  He grinned, lightheaded from his panic and still trying to even out his breaths.  At her questioning look he added, “I thought you and your sister were opposites, but it turns out you’ve got some of her humour, you just hide it to seem sane.”

 

Bethany matched his grin, giggling a little, “You’ve no idea.  I could get away with a lot when we were younger ‘cause I could blame it on Marian.  And she just went with it!”

 

All the tension of the past seven days seemed to be leaving Anders at once, and while he knew he must sound hysterical, he couldn’t help but laugh.  That Bethany was laughing along with him only made the healer feel better. 

 

“Guys?”  Hawke’s question was barely heard over their shared mirth, and Anders turned to see her looking comically uncertain, Varric with one eyebrow raised behind her. 

 

“It’s okay sis,” Bethany hiccupped, doing a somewhat good job of pulling herself back together.  “Us mages get so much pent up energy that it has to be released somehow.”

 

“It’s either this or sending a fireball at that door,” Anders added, “And we’re too close for the second to be any kind of a good idea.” 

 

 

After Anders’ little freak out they moved on a little bit, setting up camp for the night in only the next room over while the mage blushed and pretended that the whole hysterical laughter and breath-stealing panic had never happened.  The others were nice about it, none of them questioning his terror over being trapped.  He ended up having to talk them out of giving him any extra rations during their food discussion though, and they did coddle him for the next two days.  The consequence he was most worried about didn’t come to pass, as in battle they didn’t treat him any different, a relief now that they knew a little bit more of how broken he was. 

 

 

Then they came across even more unnatural denizens of the Thaig—creatures of stone and magic that felt like lesser demons—and the whole event was pushed behind them.   The, _things_ , the profane took up too much of their attention, even Justice periodically making appearances to fight.  The spirit’s decision to no longer hide changed little after a nighttime conversation in which they debated on new fighting methods, given that Anders was more of a distance fighter and healer, while Justice tended to get a little closer.  He still healed, but was far more focused on the offensive than Anders was.  In the face of his companions acceptance, the memory of Fenris’ hatred was soothed.

 

They hadn’t known each other for long, him and Fenris, and he'd already had days to wallow in the pain of what had happened.  Yes, Anders felt affection for the other, and wanted to protect him and provide him with only the best in his newfound freedom, yet the warrior had made no promises.  Anders had been the one to make promises, but that didn’t mean he’d force his choices on Fenris.  If the warrior needed help, he knew Anders would always be available to give it.  Otherwise?  Anders would leave him alone. Yes, it meant that the healer would also be alone, but he had friends here.  People who knew about his magic, knew about Justice, and stayed by his side, who didn’t condemn him or shun him.  He’d say it was Fenris’ loss, but he didn’t blame the warrior at all.  Fenris had been enslaved, tortured, and branded by magic, by the magisters of Tevinter.  It was only natural for him to want nothing to do with it.  Had he been happily accepting, then Anders would've worried.  

 

It hurt the healer, to be loathed by someone he was so fond of, but it wasn’t the end of the world.  He could move on.  He could survive, work towards the freedom of all mages, and he could still have friends.  Fenris had made his mark on Anders’ life, but, like Karl, he needed to be let go.  It would still hurt something fierce if they bumped into each other again, or if Fenris decided Anders needed to die once he got back from the Deep Roads, but for now, here in this place he hated, the healer could let go.  He’d been without Fenris longer than he’d known him.  As Bethany had said during his panic attack, he’d be okay.  He wasn't alone.  Not right now.  

 

 

Another day, and they met a hunger demon who’d found the profane eons ago and was feasting off their hunger for the abnormal.  It was evil, fade evil that tried to tempt Hawke with a way for them to leave, and she’d replied by punching it in the face.  Anders may have fallen a little bit in love.

 

Even with its shade and profane helpers, it died easily. 

 

They stayed in the next room for the night—day? Evening?  Time was impossible in the Deep Roads—discussing how they could find the key the demon had told them about, given that it wasn’t lying.  Their food was almost out despite the rations they’d put themselves on since Bartrand’s betrayal, and it was with a somber mood that the next day began.  Even more so after that they found themselves trapped once again, facing a creature so ancient none of them could even begin to put a name to it.  The demon had died easy.  This creature did not.

 

Anders had barely fought during the second half of the battle, saving all his remaining mana for healing after Varric had been run over.  Funny, except for what a couple tons of rock did to someone underneath it.  Then both Hawke and Anders had gotten caught in one of its…  He wasn’t even sure what to call it.  A pulse of that abnormal lyrium that seared away their skin, leaving them both scorched as if burnt and feeling like small shards of glass had been embedded into their flesh.  It wasn’t a good fight, wasn’t one that Anders would remember well, not least because he had passed out near the end, furiously scraping up the last of his and Justice’s mana to heal Bethany’s head when a summoned profane threw her into a wall. 

 

When he woke up it felt like he was still on fire, and though the others were also wincing in pain, there was a tired and shared smile on their faces.  They showed him the treasure, but Anders was nearly crying in relief at the fact that they’d also found the key.  That they could go home.   

 

They were all excited at that prospect, and Anders found himself joking with Varric about finding his dead brother on the way home.  Bethany and Hawke, Bethany and _Marian_ \--it wouldn’t do to get the two mixed up—were laughing, their conversation only one sisters could understand.  They were all wounded somehow, and Anders had to force himself to ignore the way Varric’s breath caught, or Bethany stumbled.  He was completely tapped out of mana, something that usually only happened when there was a Templar around or a bout of chokedamp going through Darktown and Lowtown.  He couldn’t help them anymore than he could conjure a mage light.  As long as this was actually a way home, they’d be fine.  They were going to be fine.  If he repeated it enough, joked enough, maybe it’d actually be true.

 

 

It took them five days and a couple lovely meetings with Darkspawn to stumble back to a place they recognized, a place they all remembered as only being four and a half days from the surface, even less now that there were fewer of them.  Anders wasn’t even ashamed to say he shed a couple tears. 

 

The relief in the air at this confirmation that they were going the right way was palpable, saturating the air with its high.  They’d run out of food the day before, and were surviving on healing, something that could only take them so far before they would collapse like puppets with their strings cut.  But a couple days, even a trio of them?  They’d survive.  They’d be weak, but they would live to get to Kirkwall and whatever waited for them there.  Riches for the Hawke sisters and Varric, and maybe Fenris for Anders, to kill him or to spontaneously break out into song and dance, it didn’t really matter. The four of them were alive, and they were leaving the Deep Roads.   Nothing else mattered. 

 

Then Bethany stumbled again, and fell.


	16. Fenris

The first day was purposeless.  In it only scavenged wine was drank and bottles were broken against the wall. 

 

The second day was little better than the first.  More wine, more broken bottles.

 

The third day Fenris triggered a missed trap as he wandered around the mansion with a bottle of wine in his hand and a headache splitting his skull.  The four shades that sprung up from the ground took him by surprise, and one nearly took his arm off before he’d regained enough coherency to fight back.  It was not a good fight, one he decided afterwards he should forget immediately and pretend had never happened.  On one hand, the amount of pain he was in had never been a factor in how well he needed to be able to fight.  On the other hand, he’d never fought drunk before. 

 

The fight was forgotten easily, the aftermath?  Not so much. 

 

Fenris cleaned his wounds with steady, practiced hands, and drank a healing potion he’d made himself.  Then, after he was fit enough to fight again, he stumbled back to his room and mulled on the idea that he’d never been able to take care of himself before.  It had always been attendants brought for him at the end of the day if he’d pleased Danarius, or not at all if he’d failed.  Anders had taught him that, had given him skills, useful skills his master had withheld in order to keep that much more power over him. 

 

The rest of the third day was spent trying to forget.  It took the entire evening and well into the night before he accepted that he couldn’t.

 

The fourth day Fenris woke after barely getting any sleep and went straight to the clinic.  It was strange to open it from the outside, and then to prepare for and begin the day without Anders, but he couldn’t allow himself to sit and do nothing.  He'd done two days of that already and had found it unfulfilling.  The shock of the shades and the subsequent reminder that he'd been doing something useful, something helpful with his time had thrown him further from the safe muteness of the alcohol. He'd been left wondering about the clinic and in the morning he'd gotten up and went as if on autopilot, innately understanding that he couldn’t spend another day holed up doing nothing.  From the amount of patients who’d poured in after word spread that the clinic was open again, it was a good thing he'd shown up.

 

 

It was bizarre, working without Ande-the abomination there to ask questions or make requests for magic healing.  It also showed just how little Fenris knew about everything, and he was relieved when Lirene showed up part way through the day and began helping, nearly tripping over herself in gratitude for _his_ presence.  It seemed she’d been trying to run both the clinic and her own store during the time he’d been boarded up in his mansion, and with such little notice had been running herself ragged.  The people who came in for healing seemed to notice it too, as those who had easily curable ailments huddled around the front of the clinic, staying out of the way until one of the workers was no longer busy, and then there'd be a slow trickle as they approached, wide-eyed and wordlessly begging for help.  Just because they weren’t about to drop dead didn’t meant they weren’t in dire condition.  A cough when one worked in Hightown could get someone sent away, sent home, sent anywhere as long as they weren't irritating the nobles.  When one lived in as much squalor as many of the people in Darktown did, a day’s pay was the difference between surviving on a few more scraps and starving on none. 

 

Despite the depressing nature of many of the stories he was told, Fenris found it easier to deal with than entertaining thoughts of the abomination.  Considering that Anders was the one who’d taught Fenris to help, his avoidance strategy didn’t work very well.  Surprisingly, it was the words of the creature itself that were most helpful in keeping the warrior on track.  There was much injustice.  So much injustice, and while it was not his responsibility to fix that, was it not more productive, more satisfying to help rather than sit and wait for his master to try and come back?

 

So Fenris helped.  He helped, and a day at the clinic turned into two, then three; all the while refusing to think about the creature who was usually at the place's head.  It was hard, especially the first time an elderly man came in and did not walk out again, then another time when Lirene pronounced that an amputation would need to be done on a shattered leg that Anders would’ve spent hours working on and saved.  It was very hard, and on those nights the warrior went back to the mansion with the idea that he might not return the next day.  Then sunrise came and there he was again, lighting the lantern and pretending he knew how to run a clinic. 

 

It made things easier to have people leaving donations to the clinic, which unlike the abomination he didn't refuse unless the giver’s circumstance demanded it.  Since escaping, there had been many times when Fenris had had nothing and been helped.  He’d done his best to repay them for it, and the warmth a graceful acceptance brought wasn’t something he took lightly.  Not to mention how much the clinic needed it. 

 

The coin he gave to Lirene with requests for new sheets, new bandages, disinfectant, and a whole host of other things that were desperately needed.  Ande- the abominat- _Anders_ had always stressed the vitality of sterilization to protect from infections, and Fenris did not have convenient fire he could summon at will.  Therefore alcohol and a constantly lit brazier had to do the trick, as well as the latter warming the chilly Darktown air slightly.  Whatever food he got was sorted into what he needed and what could be given away.  The abomination might've felt it was some form of penance to keep barely enough for himself, but the warrior had no such compulsions, nor did he feel guilty at the lack.  These people needed him—needed _him—_ and it would do them no good if he was too weak to defend or heal.  Items and trinkets were also divided into what could be sold and put towards the clinic, and what things could be kept and used.  Somewhat surprisingly, after the first two days more things that might be useful to a warrior were left behind, and he uncertainly, though gratefully took them.

 

Four days after he'd started working at the clinic, and three days until he'd potentially have to face the abomination again, a young girl ran into the place, heading straight for him.  The people of Darktown and Lowtown were no longer scared of him, many even smiled at him when they passed outside of the clinic, but even so Fenris was momentarily frozen in disbelief when she grabbed at the side of his breastplate and tugged to get his attention.

 

"Messer Healer!" She squeaked into his silence as if the grabbing hadn't been enough, "Messer Healer! The Templars are on their way!"

 

It took a moment after figuring out that _he_ was 'Messer Healer' before he figured out why that would be a bad thing, and Anders' status was a quick recollection.  Did they know he was an abomination too?  They couldn’t, or else they would’ve just killed him when they found him.  It wasn’t too surprising that they hadn’t caught him yet, especially considering the Darktown citizens must warn the abomination before they got too close.

 

"Thank you," he began, but was sidetracked from whatever else he might’ve said by the sounds of people moving.

 

He stared as the clinic began to empty, patients leaning on family or even strangers in their rush to retreat.  A woman with a broken leg was bodily picked up and carried out, and Fenris had to restrain himself from insisting she not move, something the abomination had drilled into him regarding any broken bones.  Why were they leaving?  How did Anders usually handle Templars?  Another tug reminded him that the girl was still there, and he reiterated his question to her.

 

She stood up straighter. “Messer Healer, the," glancing side to side, she hissed the next part in a lower tone "Mage Messer Healer has us evak-, eveak-, evakate the clinic, and then he hides somewhere, 'cause they get angry and break things."

 

An evacuation of the clinic was necessary just for Templars?  What if there were people who couldn't be moved?  And why would they break things in a clinic, even if it was run by an apostate?  It was help the people would not get elsewhere.  Not to mention the fact that they were forcing Anders to hide in his own home...

 

"You should go too then." He decided, uncertain of the proper protocol to something such as this.  When hunters caught up to him he'd either fought them or run, but these were Templars, not slavers.  He didn't exactly want to advertise his presence there, but he wasn't going to hide from _Templars._

 

The girl nodded and left with the last of the people in the clinic, and the warrior moved to the door, astounded by the speed with which they'd vacated the place.  There had been colds, broken bones, and bleeding gashes, how had they left with such ease?

 

A cry of pain had him picking up speed, but he hadn't yet stepped out before there were three armored men nearly breaking the doors down in their haste to enter.  A quick initial evaluation of their stances and weapons spoke of them being young fighters, likely wishing to prove themselves by taking in an apostate on their own.

 

The sight of Fenris must've surprised them, as they stopped and the warrior capitalized on their confusion, speaking first, "Serah Templars, what business do you have here?"

 

The middle one of the three, wielding an already drawn sword and shield came out of his confusion quickest, "Where is the apostate?"

 

"There's no apostate here." Fenris frowned.  He respected the Templar's work, thought highly of how they protected people from mages, but the things Anders spoke of them, the way they were here now, looking for the abomination...  Hounding him at every step, never letting him go free.

 

The Templar with a mace sneered, "You're new here knife-ears, so we'll give you a chance.  Where's the apostate?"

 

"I have given you no reason to be so disrespectful." Fenris snapped, wishing he was wearing his gauntlets, even though those were the only part of his armor he didn't have on.  His hands just didn't make the same satisfying _clinks_ when he curled them that the metal did.  "And as you have no wounds and are scaring away people in need of actual help provided here, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

 

There.  That was to the point without returning the disdainful tone the others had.  He'd give them the benefit of the doubt because they took care of the mages, but no more.

 

"We have jurisdiction wherever there’s suspicion of magic," The last Templar drawled, sweeping his eyes over Fenris in a way that made his skin crawl. “And we've got great reason to suspect this clinic of utilizing magic.  Not to mention that there’s lyrium you've got in your skin, which no normal person could survive.  Since now we've got reason to believe _you've_ got magic, I think it's time you came with us."

 

"No." The denial was instant to any threatening demand of his presence, and Fenris lifted his chin, glaring at the men.  He would not be intimidated.  Not least by these pathetic excuses for Templars.

 

These weren't the first of their order he'd met since leaving Tevinter, and while most had been intrigued by his brands, none had lived up to Anders' stories quite as much as these ones now. 

 

"You have no basis for your accusations," Fenris said with a hint of a snarl, blatantly ignoring the fact that the actual owner of the clinic was a mage. “And since it's obvious you're new to the Templar order, perhaps not even full Templars yet." Ah, that one had struck a nerve.  _Really?_   "I will have nothing to do with you.  If your commander wishes to speak with me, I will be here.  Elsewise, you will _leave."_

 

That seemed to stump them, and the one with a mace glared, evidently the most hotheaded of the lot.  Fenris returned the glare, knowing his was far more intimidating.  He'd dealt with many young magisters and mages who'd thought themselves capable of either challenging or impressing Danarius.  Almost all of them had died at his hand.  Those who hadn't, he'd wished he'd been able to kill.  But his master wasn't here to stop him now, how he dealt with these upstarts was _his_ choice.

 

The Templar reached for his mace and Fenris automatically fell into a fighting stance, a hand lightly resting on his great sword.  He didn't want to ruin whatever relations he might have with the Templars over something so stupid, but he _would_ fight back if they attacked.  From their surprise at his weapon he thought for a moment that they'd leave him alone, but then the mace was drawn and the second Templar made a strange motion with his hand, a burst of light slamming into Fenris like magic.

 

Though he'd braced himself for pain, whatever they'd done simply washed over him without any effect, not getting in the way of his forward motion.  Killing them would bring even more trouble down on the clinic, and he changed his first automatically fatal strike to a debilitating blow of his sword hilt to the mace wielding Templar’s head.  The other two were slow to react, and Fenris easily disabled a second with a lyrium enhanced shove, bringing his sword to the throat of the third.

 

"As of yet I have little quarrel with your order, and little desire for there to be one." He spat, holding the threatening stance for a moment more before taking a step back and sheathing his weapon.  "Collect your companion and leave.  You are causing nothing but trouble here."

 

For a moment stubbornness struggled on the man's face, but resignation and fury quickly followed.  It was a bubbling silence that reigned as the two conscious men gathered up the third one, sending glares his way as if they had the power to make him cower.  Fenris merely waited in return, his face blank as he watched and then followed them to the door, making sure they left.  There had been a cry of pain right before they arrived, but there was no one within sight, no fresh blood on the ground.

 

 

After spending the rest of the day assuring people he and the clinic were fine, Fenris decided to cut off his blossoming negative relations with the Templars at the bud.  So, early the next morning, he made his way to Kirkwall's Circle, to the Gallows.  The place practically groaned with desolation and Fenris walked in perfect step, a mask to disguise how uneasy he was.  He'd probably not have noticed or quite frankly, _cared_ , had he not heard the account of someone who'd been in a Circle, but he could feel the hopelessness in the air.  Not overwhelming, but telling a story as plainly as despair in The Hanged Man, or calm in a chantry.  This was not a place he wanted to be.  This was not a place he wanted the abomination to be.

 

That thought was nipped in the bud as soon as it came, anger strangling and pushing it aside.  This was no place for thoughts on that creature.

 

"Serah elf" a male human hailed him, and Fenris slowed his steps, changing direction to meet the man

 

"Seraph Templar." He returned evenly, wondering if a greeting was common to every newcomer to the Gallows.  A glance up and down the man’s stance told him that he was just special.

 

This man was a Templar, that much was obvious.  He wore the weight of years facing down rebellious magic users, and Fenris felt an instant respect for the man, tempered only slightly by the suspicion of hidden cruelty that the abomination had somehow drilled into his head.

 

"My name is Knight-Captain Cullen" the man introduced easily.  His eyes swept over Fenris quickly, but in a way that was wary more than threatening.  “I take it you're the one our recruits found in Darktown."

 

"If by 'found' you mean they scared all the patients away from the clinic I work at and threatened me, then yes, I was found." Fenris stated, unable to keep the disdain from his words. “Not to mention that this isn't the first time such has happened."

 

The Knight-Captain tilted his head in acknowledgement. “There's long been reports of an apostate hiding in Darktown under the pretext of creating a free clinic.  The clinic you work at is there, and it’s free, but we’ve never physically found anything to give credit to an apostate working there.  Those recruits were not sent there by any command, their supervisor is taking care of it.”

 

Fair enough, especially since Anders was actually an apostate.  And an abomination.  “Please see to it that that doesn't happen again.  There were people there who should not have moved, not to mention that they shouldn't have been so afraid of the Templar Order that they felt the need to."

 

"Indeed." The Knight-Captain looked as if he'd tasted something sour, but Fenris didn't think the anger was directed at him.  “I’ve not been at this Circle long, but I’ve found some of the Templars are a little over zealous.  Being a zealot about safety isn’t necessarily a bad thing when dealing with mages, but it needs to be tamed some when working around people.”

 

The warrior tilted his head in agreement. “Magic is a dangerous thing to be left in the hands of one who might abuse it.  I hold great respect for those who watch over mages, provided they do it well.”

 

The last part he wouldn’t have added a couple weeks before.  All mages were weak and needed watching, even Anders, but it wouldn’t do to abuse them.  The cruelty that had struck out so shamefully at the abomination cried out that the mages should be punished and put down before they could hurt others, but the logical part of Fenris’ mind held reign.  When a group of people brought another group low to prevent them from doing the same, only hatred was bred.   

 

“Rest assured, their supervisor _is_ taking care of it.” The Knight-Captain repeated himself with a frown, and Fenris realized he’d misunderstood the warrior.  Still, he had no desire to change that.  The mages of the world weren’t his responsibility, only Anders was.  

 

That thought had him grimacing internally, and he straightened outwardly, not wanting to get on bad terms with the Knight-Captain.  “I’m glad to hear it.”   

 

The Templar shifted in place, his eyes drawn again to markings on the elf's chin.  Fenris waited a beat, and then the Kight-Captain caved, venturing, "Those markings _are_ lyrium though.  I hadn't believed that part of the tale."

 

Stiffening, the warrior bounced minutely on the balls of his feet.  He hated when people asked about the lyrium.  Wasn’t its constant pain enough reminder?  Constant pain except for that one place on his hip, his logical mind reminded him, and the cruel part snapped wordlessly back

 

The reminder of Anders’ help had his voice a little sharper than he’d intended.  “I was a slave in Tevinter, my master did this to me."

 

There was no deceit hiding behind the horror in the Knight-Captain's expression. 

 

"You are on the run from mages then." He observed with a jerky nod, “I apologize, for the recruit’s intrusion.  It’s a great thing you’re doing, working in the clinic.  Especially when you’ve seen the evil of this world that exists in Tevinter.”  There was a hesitation, then he added, “I’ve also seen great evil done by the hands of mages.  They cannot be trusted to act on their own.”  No, not even Anders, the abomination, could be trusted on his own.  “If you- hmm.  Recruit Talyn described you as a warrior of awesome speed, though I reason that it must be because of those markings, rather than any magical means of your own.  If you would like to join us in bringing back apostates, we'd welcome your help."

 

His answer should have immediately been yes.  There was no reason for it _not_ to be an absolute yes, but he couldn't quite make the word leave his mouth.  Hunting down and killing guilty mages?  That sounded like a great thing to fill his time with.

 

"Right now the clinic is busying my days, but later perhaps, if the offer doesn’t expire." Fenris settled on that.  It sounded mostly like the truth. 

 

"No, it's not a timed offer" The Knight-Captian nodded again, then shifted in place. “And I'll make sure the recruits forget about you.  Kirkwall doesn't welcome any mages, least of all Tevinter magisters, but I know there are still people without honor who'd trade someone's freedom for a handful of coin."

 

The warrior blinked, having not expected the offer, especially when he’d just rejected the last one.  ”Thank you Knight-Captain.  I would appreciate that."

 

With another nod, the Knight-Captain moved on, continuing his original path toward the chantry.  Fenris stared after him for a couple moments, pleasantly surprised by how the conversation had gone.  Having gone into it expecting little, it was nice to find both a potential ally and a potential job.  While he didn't need to pay for the place he was staying, and the clinic supplied enough food for him to survive, it would be good to save some money in case he needed to run again.  He'd done so before with nothing but his weapon and armor, but a small stash, not to mention his new knowledge, would go far. 

 

A sunburst and red-blond hair caught the corner of his eye and he spun, staring at the tranquil on the other side of the courtyard. 

 

A very young face looked up to sort wares, and Fenris relaxed infinitesimally.  Then tensed again as he realized what his fear had been.  Why should it matter so much if the abomination was made tranquil?  That was, after all that waited for him other than death.  The rational part of his mind, the part that had a far bigger voice now that he wasn't faced with the object of his fury, now slipped in its opinion, and the warrior scowled, turning to leave.  Maybe Anders had been his friend at first, but not anymore.  It'd taken days for him to trust—far too little—and moments for it all to be lost.  If Fenris was going to guard him, to be a personal Templar, so to speak, then he couldn't let potentially fabricated emotions like affection get in the way. 

 

Only years of practice kept him from skipping a step as he made his slow way out.  When had he decided that?  He hadn’t even really thought about it yet, pushing aside any thoughts of the abomination that cropped up, burying his anger beneath work, forcing himself to ignore the way the Gallows made his heart race and his steps quicken.  Yet somehow he’d already come to an answer.  By his unwillingness to kill Anders, he was accepting responsibility of the abomination.  Mages could not be trusted, but it would be a travesty to lock Anders away in the Gallows.  Therefore, Fenris would let him continue his work, even aid him in it, and then put him down if- _when,_ when it became necessary.

 

Fenris winced, and a seamstress whose wares he’d been passing by huffed and turned away.  He’d been too harsh, the last time he’d seen Anders.  Said things he hadn’t meant, dug into wounds that were revealed to him in confidence.  He wouldn’t let the abomination even think of having any power over him, but he’d have to apologize for his unnecessary words.  Hmph, no one had ever apologized to Fenris.  Sometimes they’d begged forgiveness from his master through him, but none had ever regretted harsh actions toward him.  Well, that was unfair.  Anders had apologized to him, multiple times.  But even without considering fair turnabout, Fenris had decided that in his freedom he’d put a high value on forgiveness.  It was something his vicious side thought completely ridiculous, and so he held onto it all the stronger. 

 

 

The good mood from visiting the Gallows persisted as days at the clinic went by, and he became more and more comfortable with his work there. 

 

The shamed mood regarding the words he’d said to Anders before their parting started to drown it out as days on which the abomina- the mage should’ve returned came and went.  The first week had gone by easily.  Every additional day to a week and a half was harder, ending with Fenris nearly vibrating when he moved during the day, then falling to bed exhausted, wondering if he’d lost his abomination and three potential friends to the Deep Roads.  

 

The last time he’d seen them he’d been short with Varric and Hawke, and downright mean to Anders.  How could he have repaid the people who’d so readily helped him with such disrespect?  Why had he mocked Anders and told him how little his death would mean, when in truth Fenris would actually morn the abomination?  The waiting, the not knowing what had happened was killing him.  What little he could do he did, asking a couple of the children to be lookouts while the warrior was busy with the clinic.   They’d been all too happy to help him watch for Anders, more so when he gave them coin to do it. 

 

Two days after a young boy had come to the nearly empty clinic with a sighting of a dwarf that looked like Varric, but when Fenris went to see, it was very obvious they were not the same person, most notably because of the braided beard.  Still, he’d thanked the boy for his help and swallowed his disappointment.  Not well enough, considering how distressed the boy had been, and how he’d gone right back out to finish his ‘shift’ of Healer and Co. Watching, as the children had labeled it.  He thought about reassuring the child, but realized he didn’t know how.  His bedside manner wasn’t very good with adults, it was even worse with children, especially when he was beginning to feel trapped by the clinic.

 

What he really wanted to do was go out alone and find his wayward companion, but even after hours of trying, he couldn’t remember anything about the one glance he’d had of the Deep Roads map.  He hated admitting it, but there was nothing for the warrior to do but continue working and wait for news.  It was terrible. 

 

The two week mark came and went with nothing new.  The regular patients at the clinic were skittish, and there was a notably distressed air to the place, not helped at all by how worried Fenris was.  What was he supposed to do if Anders never came back?  Since Lirene couldn’t be there very often he was already basically running the clinic alone, so would that be what he did for the rest of his time in Kirkwall?  Let his muscles atrophy and his mind dullen to the pain of the people constantly coming in, constantly needing help?  At first being needed had bolstered Fenris’ spirits, but now it was overpowering.  He was a warrior, not a healer.  A fighter.  He was meant for swinging swords and opening wounds, not healing them, day in and day out.  If the abomination didn’t come back soon… 

 

But two and a half weeks went by, and there was still no sign of any of the members of the Deep Roads Expedition.  All Fenris could do was wait. 

 

And wait. 


	17. Anders

He should’ve known.  He was a Warden for fucks sakes, a healer.  He should’ve noticed Bethany falling behind, looking so pale and ill.  He should’ve noticed the taint. 

Earlier and he might’ve been able to do something.  Working together with Justice, they could’ve helped her, maybe even driven off the Blight before it set in too deeply.  That’s why he’d come on this expedition in the first place, because he had prior experience with Darkspawn, the Deep Road, and all that comes with them.  Yet even with all that, he’d not noticed she was sick until she literally collapsed. 

 

“This way.” He stated as they came to a four pronged fork in the path they were on, turning left without even slowing. 

 

“How much further are the Grey Wardens?” Marian asked worriedly, steadying her sister when she took a wrong step and stumbled.

 

Anders grit his teeth, glancing back at them and then quickly forwards.  “Not much longer.” 

 

The buzzing at the back of his skull confirmed this as they reached the end of the short tunnel, stepping out into a large empty area.  He let out a noise of thoughtfulness, and Hawke immediately asked him what was wrong, tension sharpening her words to a point. 

 

“I think they’re nearby” The healer replied, focusing on the exact cadence of the buzzing. 

 

Were they looking for someone he’d spent lots of time with in the Wardens, things would’ve been so much easier.  As close as they’d been in such small quarters, it was impossible to not become familiar with distinct signatures.  These Grey Wardens were ones he’d not spent any sort of time with, and being unaccustomed to their buzz, he couldn’t be sure if it was actually them. 

 

Then there was a sound like an enraged macaw, and Anders ate his words.  “Or, it could be darkspawn.”

 

There were lots of them too, a great group of hurlocks that had been lumbering down the huge corridor with little purpose in mind.  That changed pretty quickly when they noticed the four travelers, and then Anders was far too busy to look for the Grey Wardens.  

 

Considering Bethany’s state, the battle didn’t go terribly.  It didn’t necessarily go well either.

 

Of course as soon as Anders had killed the last two, one meeting its end via lighting and the other with broken neck courtesy of his staff slamming into its chin, Grey Warden Stroud appeared alongside two others.  Anders supposed that he really shouldn’t’ve been surprised. Why would help arrive before it was no longer needed? 

 

The nerves the healer had been suppressing sprung to the forefront with the presence of a fellow Warden, and Anders straightened, squaring his shoulders.  It shouldn't be the way it was, it shouldn't be that he was scared around those who'd once been so accepting of him, but he couldn't help it.   Experience said that he was just another recruit, no one particularly important.  Especially not to this Warden.  This man who was the reason Rolan had always been there at the edge of his vision, most of the time not even bothering to hide.  Memories of the Templar's sneer flashed through the healer’s mind, quickly joined by the blood and gore that had followed their inevitable clash. 

 

“Anders” The Grey Warden in question greeted the healer, his voice full of suspicion and not a subtle note of disapproval. 

 

Stroud had been one of the higher up Wardens who'd let Rolan Join in the first place, then had gone further, allowing the man to follow him around on every mission.  Still, Anders would give credit where it was due, and he’d never gotten the impression that Stroud had done it maliciously, more like he'd been ignorant of how it was for the healer.  Not that that was any better.  Anders had asked many times to have change, but the Wardens had caved to the Templars and Anders never forgot it. 

 

"Fancy meeting you here Stroud" Anders returned, hooking his staff on his back.  Unless one of Stroud's companions was a Templar, he wouldn't need it now.  There'd been harm in the Warden’s allowance of Anders' shadow, but he'd never done anything himself.  Just been like all the others who stood back and allowed mages to be treated as lesser beings.

 

He expected Justice to immediately start clamoring over the injustice done to them, but the spirit was silent.  A slight prodding revealed him still hiding away in the back of the healer’s head, the sickly feel of the red lyrium evidently still too much.  Anders sympathized.  The stuff felt _evil_ , if evil could have a feeling.  

 

"I could say the same."  Stroud stated, crossing his arms and appearing every inch of a noble Grey Warden.  "I thought you were through with fighting darkspawn."

 

"I'm not here to fight darkspawn" Anders said, immensely grateful the other hadn't mentioned the circumstances surrounding his leaving.  To his knowledge the Wardens didn’t know the role he’d played in the massacre, but better safe than sorry.   "I came looking for you."

 

A glance at Bethany told the Warden all he needed to know and Stroud frowned, "You mean... the girl as a recruit.  Of course you do."  There was that look of disappointment, the same one the Wardens who taken away Pounce had worn. 

 

Anders really didn't like that look.  His bleeding healer’s heart wasn't something he was ashamed of.  He went to comment, but Stroud was already speaking to Marian and Bethany, apologizing for his instant denial towards turning the latter into a Grey Warden. 

 

"You think it's kinder to let Bethany die from the blight" Marian was firing back, her frustration clear in her every aspect.

 

"Sometimes it is, yes."  Stroud replied gravely, and Anders wasn't sure whether he agreed.

 

The Wardens were a cage the same as the Circle was, but one he thought he might've stayed in for good, if not for the Templars coming to make him tranquil.  Death would be the kinder option than the Circle, but not with the Wardens.  Anders’ had had friends there.  Before Amaranthine, something of a family, even.  It wasn’t all about him though, and he knew there were those for whom death would’ve been kinder then the Joining.  There were also those who’d died in the Joining, to which the healer didn’t suppose it made a difference.

 

Damn the nobility of the Wardens. 

 

"Stroud," Anders began, gesturing to the dying girl, "Trust me when I say this one is worth your time.  With the Blight over," He added, pressing a little "You Wardens don't exactly have recruits lining up."

 

Not that they weren't needed outside of a Blight too, the common folk just seemed to forget about them then.  It was easy to give everything to a cause when it was new, or right on your doorstep. 

 

"This is no simple thing, Anders" Stroud protested, as if the healer wasn't extremely aware of such.  "This may be as much a death sentence as the sickness, and you know it"

 

"She'll die anyway." He prodded, knowing desperation was creeping its way into his voice.  Bethany had just let out another hurt sound, and he knew the Blight was setting in too quickly.  Such a brilliant girl, full of life, intelligence, and all the good a mage could have in this land ruled by Templars.  "Take her and try... I'm asking you."

 

He'd asked Stroud to remove the Templar, to send him away or to just let Anders have some peace, and the man had said no.  By the look on his face, they were both remembering it.  Of course Stroud and the Grey Wardens knew a more patchwork ending to the story than Anders, but either way, Stroud _owed_ him this.

 

The Warden started to shake his head Anders felt his face fall a bit before Stroud spoke words that didn't match.  "Very well.  I will try, but if I do this, then we are even."

 

Even.  For allowing the ruination of the place Anders had come to think of as something like home.  Stroud didn't understand.  He wasn't a mage, and he didn't bother _to_ understand.  Anders closed his eyes.  Feeling bitter over it now would change nothing.  Stroud was a good man other than that, and Anders didn't want to fight. 

 

A nod, and the Warden turned back to Marian.  "If the girl comes, she comes now, and you may not see her again.  Being a Grey Warden is not a cure.  It is a calling.”

 

Looking at Bethany now it was plain that neither she nor her sister particularly cared _what_ it was, so long as she survived it.  The weight of not being able to see each other again yet both being alive had not sunk through the gravity of never seeing each other again because one was dead. 

 

Anders was too far away to hear the words the sisters exchanged, but he could catch the flavor of the conversation, bitter on his tongue.  Bethany's voice was scratchy, nothing like the clear tone she'd spoke with before while bantering with them, while speaking of magic, while helping Anders down from a panic attack.  It would return given that she survived the Joining—something Anders was sure she would if they made it on time—but even then she’d only have twenty, thirty more years left.  Marian's sister would survive, but Stroud was right, there would be times she would wish she hadn't.  She’d come here to start a new life, but a part of her, a part of them both would never leave.

 

Yet another reason to hate the Deep Roads.

 

"We must move quickly, if we are to reach the surface in time."  Stroud warned, and Marian nodded.

 

With that the Warden was taking Bethany from her elder sister and walking away, the Blighted girl too sick to give a goodbye to anyone but her sibling.

 

Marian clasped a hand over her mouth, and Anders looked away to give her privacy for the tears she was so desperately trying to keep from falling.  The sounds of the Warden's armor clanging grew quieter and quieter as they departed, the distance between the sisters stretching until it broke.  Then there was only the noise of muffled sobs as Marian tried not to cry. 

 

 

They'd found enough treasure to make up for the lost idol and the location of the Primeval Thiag, but it was a subdued group that made its way back to Kirkwall two days after they'd left Bethany behind with the Wardens.  Shades of their banter had been picked up on the route home, but there was a gaping hole that took a second too long for Anders or Varric to fill.  Two days had passed, but it wasn’t nearly enough for Marian—Hawke he supposed, now that there was no chance of a mix up anymore—to come to terms with what had happened.

                                      

There'd been people lost at his clinic before, people who'd been beyond even his awesome scope of healing, but Anders had never dealt with the days after.  Only moments and hours.  He'd done what he could, but was at a loss as to anything more.  In his own grief he didn’t know what he wanted, how could he help Hawke when they didn’t even know if they should be grieving a death?

 

Still, while it may have felt like it, the expedition hadn’t been a failure.  Hawke had gotten enough money to hopefully get back her place in Hightown, Anders had enough to keep the clinic stocked for at least a month, and Varric had, well.  Honestly Anders wasn't sure why he wanted the money.  Hadn't thought to ask either. 

 

 

"Home, sweet home.  Finally" Varric announced with a sigh as they walked under the crumbling gate that led to Kirkwall.  "I wonder if Bartrand came back to the city.  You think I'd be that lucky?" He joked.

 

Hawke grimaced.  "Revenge isn't exactly the most pressing thing on my mind right now."

 

There was a moment of heavy silence and Varric returned the grimace.  "I know.   I'm... sorry about what happened to your sister."

 

"She'll make it."  Anders offered up with a smile that was only slightly strained.  "Bethany's a strong girl."  One who would've done better _outside_ of the Wardens, but the die had already been cast. 

 

"I should've seen Bartrand's betrayal coming.  I'll find that maggot if it's the last thing I do."  Varric looked down and Anders realized belatedly that he was not the only one feeling guilty for the girl's Blight sickness.  He wanted to say that neither of them could've known, but the dwarf spoke again before he could find the words.  "I imagine you'll be heading home to... tell the family?"

 

Clenching her jaw, Hawke looked out into Kirkwall.  "I don't have much choice."

 

Varric returned with something about the gold, but Anders wasn't listening, barely noticing as his eyes followed a little girl who jumped up from where she'd been sitting and fled further into the stinking city. 

 

Heading home. 

 

Home, to an empty cot in the back of a washed up clinic, where there was likely a line of patients needing tending when all he wanted to do was sit with Fenris like they’d done after he lost Karl.  Just sit.  Not talk or fight over Justice, just, sit and let the emotions of the last weeks fall away.  He knew he’d already decided to drop the matter of Fenris, but it was harder now that he was back.  And wasn’t that a laugh?  It was harder to deal with his future in Kirkwall then it was in the Deep Roads.  Maybe he should leave.

 

“Anders” Hawke called, and the healer jerked his head up to look at the tired woman, knowing he couldn’t leave.  Not while there was still possibility with Hawke and Varric.  “I wanted to thank you for what you did with Bethany.”

 

The healer went to protest, all the reasons why he should _not_ be thanked on the tip of his tongue, but she cut him off.

 

“Even if she,” A hesitation and a breath, “dies, you gave her a chance, and I’m extremely grateful for that.  So, you know.” She shrugged, the movement belaying her lack of familiarity with giving gratitude and the protests clambering for attention died.  “Thanks.”

 

“I wish I could’ve done more.”  He settled on before the pause stretched too long. 

 

’ ** _You could not have, not for her.’_** Justice butted in gravely, causing Anders to flinch at his sudden reappearance.  ’ ** _But there are others you will help. There is still much to do.’_**

 

“I wish I could’ve too.”  Hawke’s sentence seemed almost a non sequitur right next to Justice’s, and Anders’ expression felt frozen as he shook his head. 

                                               

“There was nothing you could’ve done.” 

 

She just shook her head again.  There was a pause, and then Hawke straightened her back, taking in a deep breath.  When she spoke next it was like all the sadness was boxed up and pushed away, only the barest hints still slipping thought. “I'm probably going to find myself in need of a healer again.  You think you might be up for it?”

 

Amazed at Hawke’s resilience, Anders felt the corners of his mouth tilting up.  “I’ll be at my clinic.  Feel free to stop by and see.”

 

The woman laughed lightly and then, with a dip of her head, turned and left, stopping after only a couple meters to wait for Varric.  Still using that ridiculous moniker, the dwarf also wished him well, waiting for Anders to return the farewell before turning to join Hawke in their walk to Lowtown.   

 

It was hard, standing and watching the two of them leave after having spent so long in their company.  Still, they’d gone over most everything that would’ve gone in any goodbye’s while they were nearing Kirkwall.  After that, there really wasn’t much more to say. 

 

‘ ** _But there is more to do.  Let us see it done.’_**

****

Anders snorted _‘Nice to have you back Justice.’_

A sense of confused impatience was all that returned to Anders, and the healer let go of his forced smile, turning away and walking towards the entrance to Darktown. 

 

It was only repetition from the morning and day before that allowed him to walk without stumbling.  Physically he was tired, but not exhausted.  Mentally it seemed like he’d been drained since arriving in the Deep Roads, something that in actuality would not surprise him.  But his magic was well rested, his body had done nothing more stressful than walk that day, and there was still a good handful of hours left before the sun went down.  It would be easy to lose himself in healing, anyways.  Maybe a little stilted, because Fenris wouldn’t be there and the mage had gotten used to his presence, but he could manage.  He had for months before without Karl.  The part of his brain that reminded him that Karl had never worked _in_ the clinic with him was dismissed.  

 

It didn’t matter, he’d continue as he always did.  There was no use in thinking about it over and over, all that would accomplish was dragging his own mood down and provoking Justice’s irritation.  That thought itself prodded Justice the wrong way, and the spirit wordlessly snapped at him in a way Anders attributed to lingering effects of the red lyrium.  Justice was still Justice after all, and spirits only had a limited range of emotions.  That wouldn’t change.  It couldn’t.

 

He was so focused on not focusing on his- _their_ future that he barely noticed himself coming up to the stairs leading down to the clinic.  He did however notice that the doors were open, and even then he might’ve suspected Lirene, if not for the snowy haired warrior standing in one of the doorways, staring out at him. 

 

"Anders" the warrior greeted, his voice uncertain and nothing like what the healer had imagined in any of his fantasies or nightmares about seeing Fenris again.

 

"Fenris"

 

He wasn’t proud of it, but his initial response was to be snarky, to goad the warrior for his reaction to Justice so as to get the inevitable blow-up over and done with.  His second panicked moment was at the thought that Fenris might be hurt, that he needed healing so badly that he'd waited at the clinic in case the healer came back.  Somewhat unfortunately his self-preservation instincts kicked in third and demanded he check the surroundings for Templars or Fenris' face for anger.  All were shoved aside when his mouth decided to speak.

 

"Why are you here?"

 

That, actually turned out a lot better than it could have, considering some of the things bouncing around in Anders' head.  It would’ve been really awkward if he’d blurted out how gorgeous the warrior looked in the light of the lantern.  Immediate murder didn’t seem likely at the moment, but that might’ve driven Fenris to it.

 

Fenris jerked awkwardly, as if realizing that this wasn't exactly a normal circumstance. With a nod into the clinic he explained stiltedly, "I work here. Or, I have been here.  Working."

 

Somewhere next to Meredith dancing the samba in mage robes was the justification that the warrior had just gone with.

 

"You, work here." Anders repeated hoping the mass amount of incredulity he was feeling made it into each word.  Why would Fenris even-

 

**_'Cease thinking.  Listen.'_ **

 

Anders blinked and Fenris took a step back, awkwardly inviting the healer into his own home.  The healer would’ve probably stood outside longer, ruminating on the fact that Fenris now apparently worked at the clinic and going over every nuance of the warrior’s tone and expression, but Justice prodded him into movement. 

 

Upon getting inside, it was obvious more than just the main worker of the clinic had changed.

 

There were white linens and bandages on the desk where manifesto sheets used to lie—the papers harder to spot, though Anders sincerely hoped Fenris hadn’t thrown them out—laid out clean and orderly as if new.  A box stood at the far back left of the clinic, a slot in the front and a flat surface covering the top, a small bag resting on top.  The few people in the clinic greeted Anders warmly, smiling as well at Fenris as the two of them passed into the back, the warrior leading them to the healer's room.  Dust and grit still lined the edges of the in-between room, but it was obvious that the cupboard saw more use, the hinges freshly oiled, the counter wiped down.  More changes sparked in his peripheral visions, but that was all he could comprehend before Fenris led him into his own bedroom.  It had been left untouched.

 

An awkward silence permeated the air as the two of them settled down, Anders taking a seat on his mattress and Fenris leaning against the wall.  It was strange, to feel like an intruder in his own home, but Anders really had no idea what to say.  What was the warrior thinking?  Was he disappointed perhaps, that the healer had made it out of the Deep Roads alive?  Angry that now he’d have to kill Anders?  Maybe he’d counted on the darkspawn doing it for him.  Indifference was an obvious no-go, but it was hard to read the jumble of emotions from Fenris' face and body language.  Too many contradictions. 

  

' ** _He seeks to cage us_**.’ The rumble was deep and mirrored Anders own angry thoughts, but he forced himself to think clearly,

 

Come to think of it, the warrior was probably having trouble figuring out how he felt too.  Goodness knew Anders had no idea.

 

"I didn't know you were aspiring to be a healer."  Anders ventured, then backtracked "I mean, you’re talented enough to be one, but I thought you'd be out working as a mercenary.  Maybe with the Templars, hunting down evil apostates.”  Now was not really not the best time to be making digs about the warrior killing mages, but Anders couldn't resist slipping one in.  Fenris didn't care if he died after all, wasn't that big a step to think he'd carry out the act of killing him.  

 

Evidently anger at the way he’d been treated had decided to rear its head over the rest of the jumble Anders was experiencing.  

 

"Anders." His name sounded like an admonishment, and the healer jerked his head up, slightly surprised to find it had come from Fenris and not Justice.

 

The warrior seemed to struggle with his next words and Anders took a moment to actually look at him, emotions and speculations aside.  It was obvious that Fenris was tired.  The bags under his eyes and the way he leaned on the wall instead of just resting against it told that story loud and clear.  As if he'd been kept awake, dreams maybe?  It seemed too much to hope that he’d been kept awake by worry for the healer.  Seemed?  No, it was definitely too much.  Not to mention mean, that Anders would wish ill-health on the other just so he could feel a little better.   

                                   

"While the Templars did offer me a job working with them," And no, the healer did not have a mini panic attack at that casual confession. "I have not yet accepted it.  I wished to settle matters with you first.  About what I said after meeting your, spirit." Fenris grimaced, "I was unfairly cruel, and spoke with anger rather than actual thought.  I’m sorry I said your death would mean nothing to me.  This past week alone has shown me how much it would grieve me, even had I not known that before."

 

Anders stared, then snapped his mouth shut when concern over catching flies kicked in. "You, did you, worry about _me_?"

 

A glare preceded the warrior's response. "Merely because I can't run this clinic for the rest of my life. I would go mad before being a full time healer." That would've damped Anders' sudden enthusiasm had the warrior not grimaced and added, "That well.   _Venhedis_.  I will not have you mocking me mage. I only wished to apologize."

 

Justice prodded him with the spirit equivalent of 'I told you so', and Anders sobered, sending irritation back at him.

 

"Right, sorry.  Thanks.  I mean, I accept your apology.  I've been told worse though, you were practically kind in comparison to some of the things said about me.  And most of the people who said them didn’t even know about Justice." He shrugged, thrown by the unexpected direction the conversation had gone. "But umm, where does that leave us?  Or you I suppose, considering I can’t just stop being possessed.  You said you spoke without actual thought, so what are your thoughts?  And please tone them down if they’re too harsh, I’m rather fragile at the moment."

 

Fenris narrowed his eyes, but refrained from getting off track with questions. "I’ve been asking myself the same question, and come to one conclusion. Your death is not an option, nor will I allow you to be locked up.  Therefore it falls to me to be responsible for you."

 

"Hey now, I'm responsible for myself. I've lived on my own long enough to figure things out." He fired back, affronted by the suggestion that he needed someone to be responsible for him.

 

"You are possessed.  Spirit or demon, it's still a fade creature and needs to be watched in case it is not as tame as you may think it is."  Fenris stated, confidence dripping in a way that made Anders scowl. "No!" The warrior snapped when the healer went to interrupt, "You cannot ask me for trust in this, not when all I've seen from the fade is evil.  I'm already going against everything experience tells me to do by leaving you alive.  Don't ask for more." _Not yet_

 

The words unspoken may have been put there by his own mind, but Anders thought they might be true.  Sitting back, the healer was forced to revaluate the past weeks thoughts of Fenris.  He’d imagined him a wild beast in his anger, a wolf who’d attack anyone near it.  The conversation they were having right now proved Anders wrong many times over.  Fenris, despite his past with mages, had thought things over and given it the best he could while still believing magic evil.  The last part stung, but couldn’t Anders give the elf the same courtesy?  Even if the suggestion had been close to becoming something the healer hated.

 

Justice roiled with confused anger at the warrior's words, and Anders remembered with stark clarity the blood on his hands and the bodies at his feet, Grey Wardens and Templars alike.

 

’H _e's come to us without the bigotry we expected, I think that deserves a little more respect than jumping to conclusions._ ' The healer hesitated, ’ _They betrayed us first, but that doesn't change the fact that we already lost control once. Wouldn't it be better if we had someone, a friend even if he doesn't ever return it, who could well, help us?  We already think of him as more than a Templar, that doesn’t have to change.'_

There was a pause, and the spirit gave in, anger easily turning to patience. 

 

“You’re suggesting, if I’m understanding this right,” Anders began, his voice steady except a slight shake betraying his nerves, “That you’d what, be my own personal Templar?” 

 

As he’d hoped, the title made Fenris grimace.  “Though I agree with many of their mandates, I’m not a Templar.”  It was amazing how earnest the warrior could look when he was also so obviously on edge.  “I would remain at your side until you lose control, and then deal with you when that happens.  To forestall any protests, you should know that I have never met a mage who’d succumbed to a demon and did not inevitably end up causing the deaths of innocents.  The only exception being those killed before that could happen.”

 

It wasn’t at all reassuring, nor spoken nicely, but Anders supposed he couldn’t really deny the ‘deaths of innocents’ thing.  Not that Fenris would ever find out about that. "Fine, I can understand that, but then you have to understand my views too."

 

"Consider that you still breathe before making such demands"

 

Nothing about it was funny, but Anders laughed, too keyed up to fake calm.  A look from Fenris had him muttering a reluctant acknowledgement then clearing his throat. "But the point remains. If you’re going to do this, then you can’t take away my freedom, or put restrictions on me, or cage me in, or follow me around twenty four seven.”  These were vital, these things where he thought the Templars went wrong, if they’d ever been good.  “Fight beside me when I’m threatened, be my friend, my companion if that’s too much, and help me when I need it.  Yes, that includes stopping me if I, I become an abomination, so there’s your chance at fun too.  I don’t want any harm to come to those who don’t deserve it, least of all by my own hands.” It was so hard to stop himself from rambling, but he thought he managed pretty well.  “Just, promise me that you’ll only kill me as a last resort, or if I’ve been made Tranquil.  Above all, promise me you’ll be on my side.”

 

Fenris blinked, having evidently not expected the tirade. 

 

“You have it all planned out.”  He ventured cautiously.  It didn’t seem like he was avoiding answering, so Anders forgave the tangent, forcing his leg to stop bouncing up and down. 

 

“Of course.  I want mages free, but I know we can be dangerous.”  Anders replied, his mind dragged to the manifesto, wondering if Fenris had read it.  “I’ve fought too many mages myself to think differently.  Compromise is necessary, but both sides need to compromise, and right now mages have nothing.” 

 

There was a pause, because the conversation had already been full of them and why break the pattern now, then the warrior spoke, each word weighed. 

 

“I disagree with you on mages as a whole and I suspect that will not change, so don’t think I’m swayed by your words.” He let out a long breath though his nose.  “Still, you are an exception, and I suppose I can treat you as such.”  Green-gold eyes flickered up to meet Anders’.  “I have conditions too, but I wish to hear of your trip first, so we can leave that for later, when we’re both better rested.

 

Anders didn’t respond and Fenris sighed again, then nodded.  “I confess that this is not how I expected seeing you again would turn out, but you have already given me this promise, it would not be right for me to do less for you.  Alright Anders, I’ll be on your side.”


	18. Fenris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness! Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments, it was brilliant reading them after being so nervous about the last chapter. Thank you so, so much my beloved readers! You guys are seriously the best, whether you've just picked up this story or have been following since the beginning, I love you all. 
> 
> I found out while writing this chapter that fruitition is actually not a word. The word that I thought was pronounced and spelt as such is actually fruition. Huh. The things you learn.

Not yet two full days after Fenris had given his promise, and it was already evident that their views of said promise were greatly opposing.    

 

Fenris, when he’d given it, had understood Anders’ desire to not be caged, but had assumed it to be secondary to keeping others safe from the abomination in their midst.  Anders on the other hand had accepted the promise in a mindset clouded by weeks in the Deep Roads and the loss of someone the mage may have considered a good friend—Fenris himself had seen too much death and misery to grieve for Bethany when he’d barely known her _and_ she was a mage.  He felt some sorrow for Hawke though. 

 

Due to their clashing understandings and the fact that Fenris had been going stir crazy from being cooped up for many days previous—not to mention the _dreams—_ it made for an, interesting time in the clinic.  Honestly though, the warrior was surprised things hadn’t come a head earlier.

 

 

“Okay, okay, but listen,” The abomination was saying, holding his hands up in front of him as if placating a wild animal “I appreciate that you’re trying to help, and that you’ve been taking care of the clinic while I was gone, but the fact remains that you’re not someone used to staying in one place for as long as this place demands.  Go out, kill some slavers at the docks, or go to the Hanged Man for a chat with Varric, whatever you want.  Just, you need to be doing something a little more active than working here, ‘cause at this point it’s mentally unhealthy.”

 

“Fine.” Fenris’ agreement seemed to take a load off Anders, one that reappeared the moment the warrior continued speaking.  “And you will come with me.”

 

“What?  No, no I won’t.”  Anders shook his head, “I’m sure you’ve noticed the nice man over in the corner there who I’ve been delving every twenty minutes, and have to continue checking in on for at least a couple more hours to make sure I didn’t miss healing anything and his lungs’ll still work.”

 

“Then I’ll stay.”

 

At that Fenris thought he might very well have broken the mage, something he might’ve felt worse about had the abomination not covered his eyes, hiding any potential traces of his demo-spirit appearing.  Not that Fenris truly believe his spirit would’ve come out for something like this.  Still. 

 

“No.  No, this is exactly what I told you about.”  Anders hissed, voice growing to its normal, if lowered tone.  “I am not a mage in the circle.  You are not a Templar, and you’d better never become one, or I’m never speaking to you again.”  He looked at Fenris now, determination written across his face.  “I have been here months, and I was free for months before that.  I’ve been healing, and helping, and generally doing a lot of things that abominations just don’t do, alright?  Yes, in high stress moments it would be nice to have someone there to make sure nothing goes wrong.  But right now?  Nope, don’t need it.  I have control over Justice, there isn’t anyone breaking down my door, everything’s fine, and everything will stay fine.  I don’t need, and more than that don’t _want_ you snipping at my heels every moment of every day!”

 

The last part rose in volume until Anders was whisper shouting, and the warrior found himself gritting his teeth and looking away.  The mage’s words shouldn’t, what, hurt?  Yet Fenris found himself upset despite there being no reason for Anders’ dislike of his presence to affect him so. 

 

Making sure his face was blank so that it didn’t show, he grit his jaw.  “Of course” The words were stiff with the disagreement going on in Fenris’ mind. 

 

The abomination hadn’t lost control once in the time they’d know each other, and past experience said he would not.  Even so, there was a rather large part of Fenris screaming against the idea of leaving him alone, just in case he came back to dead bodies, Anders’ among them, expressive golden eyes gone forever dull, slowing mixing blood staining the ground around him...

 

Anders swearing under his breath brought Fenris’ attention back up, and the mage sighed, one hand rubbing his arm as if cold.  “Look, Fenris.”  He bit his lip, and the warrior found himself not wanting the other to continue, yet he didn’t have anything to say that could stop the flow of words.  “I don’t-, hmm.  I.”  Stopping again, the abomination took a deep breath before speaking, this time with more coherency.  “I asked you to be my companion, and I don’t know, that could be just what you’re doing, but right now it feels more like you’re trying to be a Templar.  I don’t want, I _can’t handle_ having a Templar around in a place where I’m supposed to be safe once again.  And I’m trying not to be angry with you, I’m trying to get your side too, but having you watching me like this, like you’re just waiting for me to make a wrong move?  It’s making me twitchy.  Please, take care of yourself, and while you’re at it, give me a little space?”

 

The words felt uncomfortably close to Anders begging him to leave, and Fenris took a half step back, acquiescing with a dip of his head.  Something of his feelings must’ve shown on his face, as Anders’ fell and the mage opened his mouth to speak, but Fenris couldn’t deal with it.  For the first time in two days he turned his back on the abomination, and then he left.

 

 

Fenris started to regret leaving before he'd gotten halfway to the exit from Darktown, and twice actually stopped to turn back, but both times found himself unable to turn back.  Anders' words repeated in Fenris' head, and he wandered aimlessly, wondering why they'd...  What? Made him feel sympathetic to the abomination?  It hadn't felt like sympathy, that instant desire to be anywhere else.  His emotions had spiked, and given the freedom to do so, he'd left.  Left an abomination among the helpless, but that was contradictory to the way he forced himself to continue.  The thought of his company being so unwelcome that Anders had almost begged for him to leave had, stung. Yet why should he care?

 

"Messer Healer!"

 

Maybe because against all odds he wanted the abomination's friendship? Fenris had enjoyed their time together before knowing about the spirit, his knowledge had been the only thing that'd changed.  Perhaps whatever part of him that claimed Anders as a friend just hadn't caught up yet.

 

Fenris wrinkled his nose.  He'd been down this thought trail before and it hadn't gotten him any further, what did he expect would be different now?

 

"Messer Healer!"

 

While it had never been an option open to him before, Fenris thought he might like to talk to someone.  Get the input of someone who had had friends, and knew what to do with them.  That might help.

 

"Messer Healer!"

 

There was a sharp tug on one of his gauntleted fingers and Fenris came to a halt, his lyrium lines blazing and a small hand falling through his ethereal armor and hand.

 

"Messer Healer?"

 

This time the warrior actually took note of what was being said, and he found himself confounded by the sight of a small elvhan girl standing next to him, staring at his hand with wide, tear filled eyes.  The glow of his brands died, and the small hand worked its way into his, curling around the metal talons like he'd never ripped someone's heart out with them, or wielded a sword taller and heavy than the child to whom the hands belonged.

 

"Messer Healer, my brother needs help! They got him, but he got away, and he's hurt, and please help!" The child instantly began babbling and after a couple seconds became incoherent, until Fenris could only stare down at her as if she were a new and unexplained species.

 

He'd never had reason to deal with children as a slave—unless they were being used to fuel Danarius' blood magic—and therefore had no good memories or past interactions to help him now.  Still, despite the fact that the girl was still rambling, he'd gotten the general gist of things. In the clinic he'd been exposed to more than one child, though usually the guardian took care of them.

 

The word 'slavers' cut through his incomprehension, and the former slave stiffened, cutting across the child's mostly nonsense words. “Where is he?"

 

The girl turned and went to run, tugging on the warrior's hand and pulling him along as she continued to weep.

 

This could be a trap.  That was actually the most likely way things would play out, but the mention of slavers...  Fenris could piece things together quite well.  The slavers had taken this girl's brother, he'd gotten free somehow, and needed healing from what'd been done to him.  When the Templars had come after Anders' clinic it had been one thing, slavers were another.  Another that he relished the thought of killing.  It had been too long since he'd last killed any.  Since the ones Danarius had sent after him actually, just before he'd first met Anders, and the mage had healed a part of his brands.

 

That thought had him stumbling a little in his walk, and he cursed his inattention as he realized where they were, walking down the path through Lowtown and to an alleyway off the docks.

 

Every time he used the powers the lyrium gave him he was reminded of that small corner on his hip which the mage had healed.  Was reminded of the promise the mage had given, to fix the rest of them so that Fenris wouldn't be in such continuous pain.  It was a glorious dream, but how could he allow it to come to fruition now that he knew about the abomination's passenger?  And speaking of which, how much had the spirit been involved in his healing?

 

"Here," The girl stumbled to a sudden stop around another corner, and Fenris' unoccupied hand fell away from where it'd been inching towards his sword hilt at the sight of two elvhan boys on the side of the gravel road. One lay with his torso covered in blood, the other leaning over him, worried and placating words falling from his mouth.  They were very obviously not related to each other—the wounded one with black hair and darker features while the worried one boasted a visage the color of sand—though the wounded one shared his eyes and mouth with the girl.

 

The unharmed elvhan boy stood at the sight of the lyrium elvhan warrior, placing himself in front of his wounded companion. “What's this?  That's not the healer, Lizzie, who is this?" He asked, panic tinting his voice as he fell into an untrained fighting stance.  As if he had any hope of fighting Fenris off should the lyruim warrior have less than kind intentions.  It was lucky then, that Fenris did not.

 

"I found him in Lowtown, he's the one who was helping the healer!" The girl exclaimed, for a moment her wounded pride distracting her from what he assumed to be her brother.

 

The boy swept his eyes over Fenris, lingering at the brands visible on his arms and throat, a sudden spark of recognition breaking through the haze of panic.

 

"Sorry, sorry Messer Healer," though he looked older than the girl to the Fenris’ untrained eye, the child's age shone through in his words. “Please help him."

 

The boy sank back down to the ground as Fenris approached, having decided once and for all that this wasn't a trap.  Just children trying to survive in the dirt of Kirkwall.

 

A quick examination of the wounded elf showed a great slash across his chest, bruises around his wrists and ankles—possibly a broken bone in his left wrist—and his right hand tightly clasped in the sand colored elf's.  The display of affection had Fenris pausing, eyes flicking up to the boy who was doing the holding.

 

He looked terrified, like his entire world was falling to pieces in front of him. 

 

Fenris had seen people who looked like that before, as a slave and more recently at the clinic, but it was still strange seeing a male so free with affection towards another male.  Unless it was a display of power over a slave—something he'd unhappily experienced—or a tryst behind closed doors, such a thing would have never been permitted in Tevinter.  Especially not with the emotions the lyrium warrior could read flashing in the boy's eyes.  Emotions he’d thought a child too young to have.  Then again, considering how fast they must’ve needed to grow in order to survive Kirkwall, such a thing maybe wasn’t so impossible.

 

A pained gurgle drew his attention back and he frowned, wondering distantly why such a thing stumped him so much now when he'd already seen same gendered couples come through the clinic.  Maybe it was just his lack of understanding.  Dismissing the thoughts from his mind, Fenris continued his examination and, after checking to make sure there was no harm done to the elf's spine and no broken ribs, the warrior slipped his hands under the other, picking him up easily.

 

"I can't do anything for him here.  He needs to be brought to the clinic, Anders will help." Fenris explained, forestalling the questions he knew were coming.

 

Barely waiting to see if the others would follow, he turned and left, trying to figure out the quickest way back from where he'd came.  The amount of blood the child had lost didn’t bode well for his recovery.  Anders had taught him the results of blood loss, and how much one could lose before they were beyond even a mage’s healing.  So far the boy would be fine, but only because of magic.

 

"Will he be alright?" The girl asked, skipping around his side so she could keep an eye on her brother.

 

Fenris nodded. “He'll be fine as long as we get him to the clinic.  Anders will be able to heal him."

 

Too late he remembered the abominations apostate status, but there were no damning reactions from any of the children, just concern from love.

 

"It'll be alright, you'll be okay.  Just hold on.  I promise you'll never have to go to the docks alone again, I love you, I'm sorry-..."

 

Too late to ignore it, Fenris realized the boy was murmuring to the one in his arms and he tried to block out the promises and declarations of love.  Something like awe filled him at how free the child was with his affection, but he supposed there would be a lot to say to someone when they might be lost for good.  The eyes of the blond tranquil from the gallows flashed through his mind, his face overlain with Anders', the sunburst brand the same.  How much would he have to say to the mage who'd saved his life?  Thinking about the time in which he’d thought Anders might not come back from the Deep Roads, Fenris thought he knew.  He hadn’t said any of it though.  Or, a little, but not all that he could’ve.

 

Glancing again at the sandy haired elf, Fenris grit his teeth and continued on.

 

 

They arrived at the clinic with all haste, the wounded elf having ceased making noise about three quarters of the way through their trip.  There was no lineup out the door, and Fenris was relieved at the amount of empty cots as they ducked inside.  The boy would get help quickly.

 

"Fenris!" The cry was something scared, and the lyrium warrior met Anders' eyes, surprised to find fear that turned to a measure of, relief maybe, as the abomination caught sight of the boy in his arms.

 

"Abom-Anders.  He needs help." At his slip whatever emotion the mage had been wearing froze and fell away, the mask of the healer overtaking it after a moment of blankness.

 

Laying his burden down on an empty cot, Fenris took a step back and watched as the abomination put his hands over the child in something he recognized as magical delving.  Already knowing much of what the other would need, he left to the back without excusing himself, grabbing bandages, potions and herbs wrapped into bundles.  Carrying everything back to the cot, he was forced to lightly nudge the sandy haired boy out of his way so he could work.  Saying nothing to protest, the boy merely shifted over, keeping his hold on his friend—friend, was that even enough?—and continuing to whisper pretty words Fenris refused to understand.  He couldn't think about the confusing amount of affection in front of him, not while he was trying to save a child's life.

 

 

Despite how bad the wound had looked, it was only an hour’s worth of healing, rather than the longer drawn out amount Fenris had initially predicted.  Partway through the girl had fallen asleep, the exhaustion of panicked emotions quickly catching up to her young body.  The older boy on the other hand had refused to be separated, even when a fellow patient's family offered him a seat to wait with them.

 

Fenris wanted to go out right away and find the slavers who'd tried to capture the child, but something kept him back.  A few somethings actually.  All of them revolving around the abomination, and some also around the relationship between the children, who at longer examination weren't quite as young as the lyrium warrior had thought.  Not quite adults, but not the definition of children either.

 

Fenris wasn't completely oblivious to romantic or sexual relationships based on mutual affection, despite having never been a part of one himself.  He knew there was a way for two male lovers to have sex without it meaning pain for one and release for the other.  Or at least he thought there must be, unless love meant that one was willing to bleed to see the other's happiness.

 

Throwing a considering glance at the mage, he wondered.  Whatever lovers were in Anders' past, he couldn't imagine the abomination accepting such an unequal balance.  He himself would never think of such a thing.  A group of memories he’d tried to hide prodded hypocritically at his mind and he looked at the ground, ashamed.  Already he'd thought of the mage in a sexual setting, even doused a couple quickly wandering thoughts after finding out the mage was an abomination.  It didn’t matter, it wasn’t his business.  It wouldn’t be his business either, as he had no intentions of approaching Anders with it.

 

But moving on from his sick moments of sexual desire with one last shudder of something he refused to call self-loathing, Fenris considered the grand scheme of his reactions to Anders.  He'd been hurt at the abomination’s desire to get him out of the clinic, even though he'd been going crazy cooped up inside.  Then the thought of Anders' death was something that made him physically ache like his lyrium brands were lit, and when Fenris imagined potentially losing someone important to him, it had been the abomination who came to mind.  Perhaps it would be different had the warrior not spent weeks of time without the mage, but as he had…

 

It all added up when Fenris took the time to think on it instead of avoiding, but how could he feel such affection towards the mage when he was a _mage_?  An abomination he didn't even trust enough to relieve Fenris of the pain in his brands?  A friend was one thing, but anything more? It was-

 

"Fenris?" The object of his ruminations broke through them, but the lyrium warrior couldn't bring himself to look up, acknowledging Anders only with a wordless grunt.

 

His inaction prompted a sigh, and the creak of a cot as the mage sat down across from him. “Listen, Fenris, this isn't working."

 

Now the warrior started, jerking his head up to look at the other who was resignedly watching the ground.

 

"I know you meant well when you said you'd be on my side, but I think the fact remains that you've had too many bad experiences with mages and I've had too many bad experiences with Templars for this to work out." Anders said with the air of one giving a practiced speech. “You've got your mansion, you've got Hawke, Varric, you'll be fine.  For me though?  I heard what you were going to say, what you think of me, and I can't live with, I can’t be friends with someone who thinks I'm an abomination.  That’s just incredibly unhealthy, and as much as I’d love to stick my head in the sand about it, I can’t, not when it could end up destr-really hurting me.  So as much as I've enjoyed your company, and your friendship when I had it, I need you to leave, before this gets any harder than it already is."

 

Considering how the mage had been acting that morning it really shouldn't've been a surprise, but Fenris found himself blindsided.  Blinking and joining Anders in staring a hole into the ground, he attempted to reconcile his previous thoughts with the new information he could pluck from around Anders’ demand. 

 

His instant reaction was refusal.  He would not be leaving, definitely not permanently in the way the abomination was referring to.  But was that not one of the problems?  That he thought and spoke of the man in front of him with terms he understood, even so far as to ignore Anders’ explicit requests?  Anders had already asked him not to use the word abomination, had shown his dislike of it very clearly, yet Fenris kept using it.  Even before his mind drifted to the two elves across the clinic, to Hawke and her sister or Hawke and Varric, the lyrium warrior came to the conclusion that in this, he was in the wrong.

 

"I'm sorry." Fenris whispered, ignoring the sound of Anders surprise. “I, hmm.  Whenever a mage is possessed they become an abomination, that's what I know from Tevinter.  Yet you are not like them in your possession.  I don't know what to consider you, so the default is abomination."

 

"Healer.  Mage.  Apostate.  Human.  Grey Warden." Anders listed, and Fenris met his gaze to find eyes touched by hope.  "I'm a lot more than my merger with Justice."

 

The warrior shrugged one shoulder, "I know, and I apologize.  I, don't want to leave.  Well, here and there, but not for good."

 

"I really, really want to believe you, but the past two days say that I can't.” Anders grimaced, self-loathing entering his voice.  “And why would you want to stay other than to protect others from me?  It's obvious that while you're a good healer, you're just not cut out for this kind of work full time.  And I can’t really offer you anything, considering that I’m pretty much going to continue doing this until I die.  There’s really no reason, or at least I can’t find something that would make your staying worth it.  So, uh please, just, throw me a bone here? I want you here, but I don't want this to be some kind of chore or obligation because you aren't killing me or handing me over to the Templars. I can't live like that."

 

Pushing himself to his feet, Fenris began to pace, scowling as he tried to figure out how to explain something to the mage that he himself didn’t fully understand.  “I don’t know what you want me to say.  Bah, no, I don’t know what _to_ say.”  When all else fails, make a list of what was going on, work out from there.  “You are someone who heals the poor and weak in a free clinic, who took me in and healed me, and didn’t complain once when I ate your food and used your bed.  You’ve been nothing but kind to me, kinder than many non-magic users have been, and I considered you my friend before I found out about your possession.”  The warrior took a deep breath, shooting a glare at the mage when he moved as if to speak.  “No, don’t interrupt me.  You’ve had your chance to speak and ramble, perhaps it will do me well to try the same.”  A pause to make sure Anders wouldn’t speak, then he continued.  “Even possessed, all that I know of you hasn’t changed and I don’t know what to do with that any more than I know what to do with my feelings for you.  Especially now as I fear what you might become, what might happen to you because of the spirit you harbor, and what could happen to me should I let my guard down.

 

“I didn’t want to be in the clinic any longer this morning, yet you telling me to leave both then and now made, makes me unhappy.  I don’t know what to tell you in order for you to let me stay, but I don’t want to be chained here anymore than you want to be chained to me.”  At this he abruptly ran out of steam, left wondering how Anders managed to ramble so often and yet never dry of words.  “I, don’t _want_ to leave, but I don’t want to speak of this either when I don’t understand it myself.  For now just, accept that.  Please.”

 

For a long moment there was silence from the mage, and when he spoke it was halting and choppy.  “Okay.  Alright, so, I uh, get you not wanting to talk, that’s fine, that’s your right, but can we, no, we _will_ need to talk more, once we’ve both had time to figure out what to do about all this.  ‘Cause I have to admit, I’m rather curious about- nope, no, you said you didn’t want to talk.  I can do that.  I can.”

 

Fenris snorted softly, coming to a halt in front of the mage.  “I doubt it, but I appreciate you trying.” 

 

“Hey!” Anders jerked back, mock affronted, “I’ll have you know that I can be silent if I want to, for a portion of time.”

 

“A short portion.”  The warrior's lips tilted up in an amused smirk, slightly in awe at how quickly their conversation had turned from ranting to banter.  Maybe that was why Anders ranted.  In the hopes of bringing conversation to a place it wasn’t before. 

 

Fenris straightened, accidentally meeting the gaze of the sandy haired elvhan boy and blushing, immediately looking away again.  Clearing his throat he lightly kicked at the abomin-no, the mage’s feet.  “I need to leave now.  Go after the slavers who hurt the boy.” 

 

A pause in which neither of them spoke.  Then Anders tentatively asked, “And you’re leaving ‘cause you want to, right?  I uh, don’t actually want you to leave, I was just saying that because I thought you hated me.  And well, because it would be good for you to get out and do something physical.”  Wide eyes darted around the room and up at Fenris, as if their movement could hide just how much their owner cared.  “As your healer I approve of you going to kill slavers, so long as you don’t get hurt yourself.

 

“I don’t hate you.” He denied, flexing his fingers and deciding to ignore the rest of the babble.  “I don’t know what I feel for you, but it isn’t hate.”

 

The mage gave him a strange look, but tilted his head in acceptance.  “Let me know when you figure it out?”

 

Fenris nodded and then turned to leave, stopping when the child addressed him, speaking in a voice quiet enough he didn’t think Anders could hear with his weaker human ears. 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, about the Healer being an abomination.  He’s a good man, and you know it too.”  The lyrium warrior inclined his head in the child’s pause, and the boy continued.  “But what you were saying, about how you feel about him?  It sounds a lot like you think you know, but don’t want him to.  You shouldn’t be scared, the Healer is a good person.”

 

Blinking, the lyrium warrior stared at the child, wondering just how much of their conversation he’d heard. 

 

Before he could figure out a reply the child added, “Thanks though, for what you did for us.  If he died…”  

 

Eyes still too old for the body they were set in watered, and the boy repeated his gratitude another time, turning back to his bedside vigil.  Uncertain of what to say, the lyrium warrior continued walking away, somewhat thankful for the out he’d been given.

 

Fenris’d almost made it out the door before he was stopped again, this time struck by a sudden thought. "If I leave now, can I come back?"

 

"Yes, absolutely." Anders snorted after the immediate reply, glancing down "I said that way too fast didn't I?  Huh, oh well, cat's already out of the house.  I really enjoy your company, Justice really enjoys your company, and we’d like you to come back as often as you’d like, given that you want to be here” 

 

The lyrium warrior glanced at the sandy haired child, then nodded slowly, gave Anders an uncertain smile, and left.


	19. Anders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I've finally found it. There's this comment someone put on a tumblr post that's kept on popping up in my head as I write this, and I just found it again so I'm going to share it's joy with the rest of you, sorry. This is a response to the gifset and bigger post found here: sharkseye.tumblr.com/post/116850150872/lingering-nomad-praggnificent
> 
> "The sad thing is, Anders is on a downward spiral, while Fenris is on a slow road to recovery." - lingering-nomad
> 
> Seriously, that line just stuck with me, 'cause it's rather upsetting, but also rather true. Through the game Fenris embraces his freedom, and while there are still some hooks at the end--depending on whether Hawke is a horrible person or not--he's free, he's happy. Then on the other hand Anders is never canonically free and by the end is so weighed down with chains that he no longer cares whether he dies or lives. They're each going a different direction, and I think part of the reason I like Fenders so much is because one thing it does is open up the option for them both to go in the same direction, hopefully being up. 
> 
> Also, recently I found out that I have 37 user subscriptions, which is amazing and makes me feel kind of bad. 'Cause it means that people looked at my writing style and liked it enough to subscribe to all my stories--which is so flattering, you've no idea--but I'm really bad at staying in one fandom. I jump around a lot, so someone who might've followed me for my supernatural phase is getting a bunch of DA updates, or someone who liked my GoTG story also got my Hobbit big bang, it's a disaster. So if any of you out there are people subscribed to me, thank you so much, and I am so sorry. Love you though! :D
> 
> And as always, thanks for all your wonderful comments and kudos, they help me so much in getting this story written and out weekly. Now let's get to the story!

Feelings.

 

Alright, so apparently Fenris had, feelings for him? 

 

Feelings.  For Anders.  A mage.  An apostate mage, one who would eventually like to see all mages free.  A possessed mage to boot.  And Fenris.  Former slave to a mage in Tevinter, where all the blood mages and worst kind of magical people seemed to congregate.

 

Just where the fuck had that come from?

 

 

The two days previous to said revelation had been spent in a kind of sweet agony.  Sweet because Fenris knew about Justice and still spoke to him and healed with him and remained at his side.  Agony because it was a farce of their previous friendship, short though it may have been. The warrior's eyes had followed him beyond healing, his back had never turned, and already short smiles shuttered nearly as soon as they’d appeared.  Every movement had telegraphed his lack of trust in Anders' ability to keep Justice contained and the spirit's own ability to, well, be a spirit and not a demon. It, it hurt.

 

It hurt, and it was pretty much the best case scenario Anders had expected.  He’d lose all of Fenris’ trust, but he’d still have a companion, that had been the hopeful option.  So yes, the healer had already predicted and resigned himself to worse, and plus with what the warrior had told him about going to the Gallows to ward off the Templars, he might’ve even been able to stand it.  After all, that wasn’t the kind of thing someone did if they were completely convinced that their companion was an unredeemable abomination, right?  It wouldn’t be pleasant, but he could have managed.  Maybe.  Probably?

 

Then again whatever could’ve happened didn’t really matter, as that prospective future had never come to pass.  Not with the additional fact that Fenris had been cooped up for weeks in the clinic.  Though the warrior was could be an excellent healer, Anders had known from the beginning that his greater gifts lay elsewhere.  In active talents, mostly.  Mercenary work, protection detail, even adventuring.  Staying in the clinic on the other hand was driving him crazy.  Making him twitchy.  And that twitchiness combined with the lack of trust drove _Anders_ crazy. 

 

So it had come down to the simple need to get Fenris out for both his own mental health and that of Anders’.  Finally accomplishing that, the healer had taken the free time given to come to the conclusion that things just wouldn’t work.  Fenris didn’t fit the role of a Templar and Anders didn’t fit the role of a circle mage.  There were only three ways that could end, and none of them had both staying alive.  Starting that conversation only to find out that Fenris had, _feelings_ for him?  Well, that had been quite the turnaround. 

 

 

The remainder of the day had passed in a haze, and each time the door opened the healer looked up with a mix of hope and deliberation in his eyes, half expecting Fenris to stride in again, an angry glint in his eyes and hands twisting in confusion.  Still would be a better sight than the warrior arriving as he had earlier, a half dead child in his arms and panic on his face.

 

The child in question had since woken up, and the three younglings had professed their gratitude to the healer and asked Anders to pass it along to Fenris as well, all that weepy thankfulness that shouldn’t belong to kids that young.  Convincing them they’d be better off to stay the night didn’t take much, though the healer came close to regretting it at the knowing glances the eldest boy kept on shooting him each time he perked up—he did not _,_ he wasn’t a _dog,_ and he actually didn’t want Fenris there anyways, if his brain could just get the message—at the door opening.  He’d spoken truly before, him and Fenris did need space from each other, but that didn’t stop him from hoping the warrior would come back and just _explain_.

 

It was a relief to fall into bed and close his eyes, removing all the distractions of the day and letting himself relax despite the agitated thoughts wandering around his mind.  Of course with the removal of sight the constant flow of confusion that had been radiating off of Justice since Fenris had left replaced said distractions, finally becoming too much alongside his own.  Knowing he’d never get to sleep while the spirit was so unintentionally and passive-aggressively making themself known, Anders sent a questioning prod at the spirit, wondering why Justice wasn’t speaking freely as the spirit usually did.

 

Even more confusing was the hesitation before Justice spoke back.  **_’The Singing Elf found his own words muddled, and though your mind swirls incomprehensibly, you understood what he spoke of.”_**

 

Ah, yes.  Of course Justice wouldn’t quite pick up on that. 

 

’ _It’s ‘cause I’m not sure.  I mean, if it was anyone else I would be, but with Fenris, he isn’t exactly the most articulate when it comes to emotions.  And I don’t see any reason behind it.’_

**_’You leave the question unanswered’_ **

 

Anders wrinkled his nose.  One would think the spirit would’ve grown used to his meandering routes at answering hard questions such as this one.  ’ _And you’re being impatient, even after stewing for hours without a word, I might add.  Anyways, what I_ think, _and keep in mind that this is just guessing based on experience, is that Fenris has feelings for me in regards to, well.  Like Kristoff had for Aura, except I expect that whatever Fenris is feeling it’s a lot less than what was between them, given that they were married and all.’_

 

His mention of Justice’s dead host had the spirit going completely silent, then, slowly a small amount of understanding filtered its way through.

 

 **_‘Love, yes, I understand.  What will you do?_ ** _’_

_‘Not love, probably just appreciation for my stunning good looks or extravagant amounts of wealth.’_

Still though, Justice had hit the million gold question.  Fenris wasn’t here, so the warrior couldn’t expand or explain or anything Anders had been wishing for all evening.  All that was left was for him to decide what to do with the potential outcomes.

 

’ _But I can’t.  Not until I know if I’m right or not.’_  It wasn’t a cop-out.  It felt like a cop-out, but it wasn’t.  Because… Because.  It wasn’t.  If he was wrong about it and ended up letting himself feel something beyond affection for Fenris, then _not_ have it reciprocated?  It would suck.  It would really suck.

 

Justice let out a long vibrating hum.  **_’Aura showed me letters Kristoff had sent her while still alive.  He told her she was beautiful.  You’ve thought of Fenris as beautiful before.’_**

****

Anders blinked, unaware he’d opened his eyes in the first place.  ’ _That was purely aesthetic!  I mean, objectively, he is a very beautiful elf, and he’s stunning when he fights, and really intelligent—for one, he knows_ so _many languages—he has an adorable smile, and- Oh.  Well.  Guess that ship sailed.’_

Crap.

 

Evidently there had been a whole lot of obliviousness going on around here, considering that not only had Anders completely missed Fenris’ feelings, but he’d also not noticed his own.  He had known he was fond of the warrior, knew that he admired him, but the romantic aspect hadn’t even entered his mind until the unattached spirit had suggested it. 

 

**_’I see the problem.’_ **

 

Anders let out a strangled laugh, clapping his hand over his mouth as soon as the noise left him.  For a moment he held still, staring into the dark and waiting to see if anyone noticed.  When there was no sound except the normal ones of Darktown, he closed his eyes, attempting to relax again despite the newfound tension. 

 

’ _Just the one?  Oh, and with you possessing me, you’d be there for every part of it too.’_

 

That was actually one of the big problems with any prospective relationship he might have, and he’d put it off as a problem for the future when he’d been searching for Karl.  Wouldn’t Justice hate it?  Spirit’s weren’t made for carnal activities.  Lust was a demon, desire was a demon, hunger was a demon.  Love was a spirit, but the actual acts that came along with a romantic relationship just weren’t for them, as far as Anders knew.  What justice was there to be found in sex?

 

Of course, this was all assuming Fenris saw the healer in a romantic light, and beyond that wanted to have sex with him, which was never a given.  Definitely not when the whole thing was theoretical anyways.  For one Anders could not see Justice approving of the amount of devotion needing to go into a relationship.  Especially when they were already working on freeing the mages, _and_ the spirit had got into the subject of slaves as well.  For tw-

 

 ** _’Such things are_ _distractions from the Cause.’_** Justice broke in and confirmed the healer’s very thoughts. ‘ ** _If you become as Kristoff and Aura were, justice will become something secondary when it is something that should be primary.  Your friendship with Fenris was beneficial to the both of you, but so far these, ‘feelings’ have brought nothing but dissent to either of you.  It would be best if you did not pursue this.  Too many have already put the freedom of mages to the side, we will not.’’_**

Biting at the inside of his cheek, Anders carefully didn't let his wary reaction show. Then proceeded to realize how useless a deception was against someone in his head, and dropped the act, simply replying, _'Nothing's set in stone. Besides, I believe that mages need freedom today just as much as I did yesterday. That hasn't changed, and won't.'_

 

Justice let out a faint noise of disapproval, but didn't continue the conversation. In something like mimicry of the spirit Anders let out a sigh through his nose.  At least Justice didn't intend on actually doing anything about it.  He had his opinion, and as a passenger in Anders’ body, was entitled to it.  That still didn’t change the fact that he was a guest, and Anders wouldn’t stand in the way of his own happiness.  They’d have to work out the logistics of preventing an unwilling threesome when and if it became relevant. 

 

Wait.  How had this gone from holy crap what’s happening to a foregone conclusion?  Anders certainly hadn’t approved that.  Not to say he didn’t approve _of_ it. Not to say he did either.  It was just, a surprise.  That's it.

 

Fenris was a brilliant warrior, a brilliant elf, a brilliant person.  One who learned quickly, retained knowledge with ease, and was somehow able to figure things out with only the slightest background, sometimes quickly, sometimes after a bit of thought.  He was an amazing fighter, could hold his own against demons and bandits alike, and he’d already proven he could help protect Anders, not least with his diplomacy regarding the Templars.  An elf full of violence, but also kind and compassionate despite being unpracticed with it.  The light blush that dusted his cheeks whenever someone gave him a compliment was delightful, and when it was Anders he smiled shyly around…  It was all a moot point considering Fenris hadn’t shown any affection towards the healer since the whole Justice reveal, but then again with Fenris’ recent revelation, maybe it wasn’t.  Maybe he’d have those sweet smiles from the gorgeous elf again.  He didn’t think he’d quite mind. 

 

Plus there was the body that came with the mind, and while Anders knew he could probably go on for a long time about just how sensual Fenris was, how alluring his movements were, he thought he’d spare Justice. 

 

The whole thing was like an unexpected flash flood despite the heavy rains preceding it.  Anders couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed, but now that he _did_ notice it was like he couldn’t stop.  Everything they’d done together, everything the mage had seen, it was catalogued and streaming through his mind behind a different filter.  Still, the spirit had already expressed his displeasure at the whole idea.  The least the healer could do was give him a little time to adjust before flooding the connected part of their mind with thoughts of the elf’s smooth and dark skin, or his eyes that could flip between fiery and defenceless in the turn of a moment, his solid muscles that flexed and glistened tantalizingly with sweat as he danced through battle, expertly swinging his huge sword…  Oh and there he was, doing it again.

 

Determined to stop—for the moment _at least_ —Anders cast his mind to other things in an attempt to keep himself distracted.  It didn’t work as well as he’d hoped, but eventually, in the middle of a thought about giant cats and how nice it might be to live with one, the healer slipped into sleep. 

 

**_’The strength he showed in escaping slavery and continues to show through both his just actions towards slavers and kindness is admirable.  And though the blood magic within them is a point of disgust, once we remove it the lyrium that lines his form will not be, displeasing.’_ **

 

Somewhat disoriented Anders blinked into the morning, attempting to reconcile the last of his dream in which Fenris had been a giant black and lyrium lined jaguar and Anders had been having some very curious revelations about himself in light of that fact, with the words the spirit had spoken. 

 

Before he could fully complete the transition to wakefulness, Justice continued, **’** ** _This does not mean that I approve of any romantic or physical attachments between you and him.  I agree that there are qualities in Fenris that can help us, but only so long as he does not become a hindrance to helping the mages. He is a good companion, you need no more.'_**

_‘Mmhmm. Your opinion is always lovely to hear first thing in the morning, Justice.’_

**_’Yes.’_** Justice agreed with a measure of satisfaction, then added, ‘ ** _Now rise.  There is no time to waste lingering here.’_**

_‘And there it is.  Good morning to you too.’_

 

It might’ve been just the healer’s imagination, but he thought that the spirit might’ve felt a little amused.

 

 

Whatever amusement might’ve been there, it was long gone as the afternoon approached and Justice’s words about a lack of time to waste came quite true.  Anders had been hands deep in victims of a brazen bandit attack in Lowtown since nearly an hour after he’d opened.  The children who’d been there earlier were long gone, sent off with enough food to last them the day as soon as the first man staggered into the clinic, clutching his bloodied wife and crying out about what had happened. 

 

Anders had heard of the Sharp Highwayman—the bandit’s who’d led the attack—before he’d left for the Deep Roads, and gossip after his return had said they’d been almost completely wiped out.  This attack said something different, but some distant part of his mind wondered through the day if it was perhaps the last act of a dying gang.  Hopefully. 

 

Said part was confirmed when a member of the guard came in out of uniform, lowly informing him that none of the gang had survived their last act.

 

There was, something of an agreement between himself and the guards.  Or at least a few of them.  Until a month into his stay in Kirkwall, he’d never healed or spoken to them, their organization always having a healer or two of their own, not to mention the whole illegal apostate thing.  Then, one of the guards had been stabbed in Darktown and unable to make it to Lowtown alive, let alone all the way back to the barracks.  His clinic had been the closest available, and honestly even then the guard wouldn’t have survived had Anders not been a spirit healer.  He’d hesitated, but between his own natural drive and Justice’s additional clamoring—Justice loved the city guard—he’d succumbed to using magic as discreetly as possible.  As the guard had left, one of the others had stayed behind under the guise of leaving a sizable donation as thanks.  Which they did, but also lowly informed Anders that they’d noticed the arcane healing, and assured him no action would be taken.  

 

Since then, he’d had a handful of guards—always the same ones—come down to the clinic after violent incidents in the city, keeping him updated on how they had or were taking care of it.  After some thought the healer figured out that they used him as a link from which they could calm Darktown citizens, as he’d share the news with his patients and from there it would work its way through them and into Lowtown.  The fact that they were using him for such a thing relieved him, as the useful tended to last the longest.  Doubly so in the Circle.  Had Anders not been a spirit healer, he’d have been killed or made Tranquil _years_ previous.  Escapees were not looked upon kindly.

 

“You went to the Deep Roads with Hawke”

 

The healer jumped, turning to stare at the guard.  “I didn’t realize that was common knowledge.”

 

The guard shook her head, staring firmly at Anders.  “It isn’t.  But we came from Ferelden together, and she’s been a good friend since.  With the fact that she and some of my guardsmen spoke of you, I decided it was high time for us to actually meet.”

 

“Oh, are you Aveline?  Now that I think about it she mentioned you too.” Then Anders remembered another important part Hawke had said.  “Wait, you’re the captain of the guard now, aren’t you?  Shit, are you here to arrest me?”

 

“I am, though only recently.”  Aveline dipped her head slightly in acknowledgment, her stern expression never changing.  “And I’ve no intention of arresting the only healer in Darktown.  I hear good things about you, Anders.  Not what I expected.”

 

Somewhat affronted, the healer snorted, “From a mage, you mean.”

 

“I didn’t say that.”  The guardswoman’s mouth tipped down a touch at the corners, somehow making Anders feel like a petty child.

 

“How else would you judge me?” Anders asked, rhythmically tapping his finger on the cot. “What else am I a shining example of?”

 

“I don't know” Aveline stated, still with that disappointed seeming frown “Other Fereldans lurking in Darktown? Mage or not.”

 

Oh, right.  “You have a fair point.”

 

Compared to many of the other refugees, Anders had done rather well for himself indeed.  Compared to Hawke, or those in Hightown, his life might not seem so great.  To a captain of the guard though, he supposed he might seem admirable.  It was false of course, he hadn’t nearly done enough, but he wouldn’t share his bigger ideas with anyone of authority until his manifesto was ready for reading.  No one would listen elsewise.  Maybe even then, but one could hope.

 

“You came down here just to meet me then?” He asked, still rather uncertain when faced with the captain of the guard.  In his experience, such people were those apostates needed to stay away from, not invite into their dwelling for tea.

 

“Yes.”  Aveline nodded, finally looking away to sweep her eyes over the assembled wounded still in cots as they waited until their bodies could handle more healing, or simply rested from it.  “Despite Hawke reclaiming the Amell estate, I imagine she will not be content to sit in finery for long.  As such she’ll probably continue asking for our company on her adventures, and we’ll eventually meet.  I decided it might be better to introduce myself to you before it’s over the dead bodies of slavers, or bandits, or whatever trouble Hawke runs into next.”

 

Anders laughed softly.  “True.  I haven’t been out with her much outside of the Deep Roads, but even in that and with some of the stories she and Varric have told, she manages to get into all sorts.”

 

“Indeed.”  There was a small pause, then Aveline spoke again.  “It is a nice clinic you have here though.  I must admit, I didn’t expect a place like this in Darktown could run as efficiently as you have it.”

 

“Thanks.” Anders shifted awkwardly at the nonchalant praise.  “Fenris has helped out a lot with it too.  He set up a couple things I didn’t think would work, but they have.”  At Aveline’s raised eyebrow he clarified, “The donation box is the biggest thing.  I’ve always tried to avoid taking anything from these people, considering how little they already have.  But it’s worked, and I think they actually like having a way to say thanks, if they can afford it.  Thankfully I haven't had anything who's felt obligated.  Or at least I don't think I have.”

 

“I can see that.  It isn’t a good feeling to owe someone your life and be unable to pay them back.”  Aveline nodded.  Anders was about to say they paid him back just fine in misleading Templars and guardsmen not already aware of him, but then she continued.  “Fenris?”

 

Right.  The warrior probably hadn’t impacted everyone’s life as much as he had Anders’.  “He’s a, warrior.  Another companion of Hawke’s.  I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him yet.”

 

“The one with the lyrium brands, the escaped slave yes?  I have heard of him, I just didn’t make the connection between the two of you.”

 

“Oh, I see.”

 

Whatever conversation they had petered out at that point, and after only a few more minutes Aveline bid him goodbye, stating that she needed to be back in the barracks and would rather not keep him from his patients any longer. 

 

It was an, interesting encounter, but as Anders thought it over later that night while trying to distract himself from the absence of a certain lyrium warrior, he thought it might’ve been a good one.  It was nice to know he had a connection so high up in the guard, even if Hawke might’ve been the only reason said connection didn’t storm down and arrest him.  Such people could be trusted only as long as one was useful to them, and, for the moment—hopefully longer than just a moment—the healer was useful to them.  He thought Hawke could be trusted further than that though, as could Varric.  He would’ve liked to trust Fenris without reservation, but would prefer not to look down one day and see a glowing blue hand sticking out of his chest.  The warrior hated mages too much for complete confidence.

 

Anders slept on edge that night, and it wasn’t only the dichotomy of wanting Fenris to come back and leave him alone that made his rest so light. 

 

 

The next day dawned bright—for Darktown—and early—even for Anders—as he got up and immediately began cleaning and restocking as much as he could after the previous day's disaster.  As usual he attempted to get the necessities done as efficiently as possible in case there was another emergency following right on the heels of the last one, though the healer really hoped that wouldn't be the case.  It had happened before.  One notably horrible week cumulated in a spider attack at the Bone Pit the day before a dock collapsed while a passenger ship was unloading.  Anders had been in tears by the end of the second night, as patients he knew he could've usually saved had died under his exhaustion and lack of supplies.  That was something he _never_ wanted to repeat again.

 

The quiet of the early morning extended, and by partway through the morning it seemed like nothing too disastrous had or was going to happen.  A woman whose ankle had shattered under a falling cart the day before was checked over and escorted out by her wife, a pair of twins came in with the flu, and an elderly gentleman came by after experiencing an increased shortness of breath.  In fact it wasn’t until an hour from noon that the relative silence was broken by the door slamming open and an young man Anders recognized as caring the name Flint came charging in.  It was an unfortunately normal occurrence, and Anders took a step towards his potions, one instantly halted by the man's words.

 

"Healer, Healer there's slavers here in Darktown.  They look meaner than the regular ones though, and are searching for someone. You've got to hide!"

 

Fenris.  _Fuck,_ the slavers were probably searching for Fenris, he needed to warn him-

 

"Thanks.  Have you seen Fenris?  The warrior that's been working here?  Does he know?"  Anders spit out the words rapidly, slinging his staff onto his back and already moving to close up the empty clinic.

 

"No Healer, but Sasha and Mark are out looking for him."  Flint replied, his tone distraught.  He moved with the healer, and gave a sort of jerky bow as they reached the door, the man ducking out.  "I have to go, I have, my kids, I need to go, but you need to stay safe too.  I'll watch out for him, tell him, if I can."

 

Anders nodded, and the man was off, calling out to a shadow the healer vaguely recognized as Mark, who fled further into Darktown.

 

He needed to get to Fenris, that was the first priority as soon as the lantern was out and the doors closed.  Get to Fenris, warn him that the slavers were there, and likely looking for him, and then they could fight them off.  The warrior was extremely capable, but having a healer on hand would help him a lot. 

 

**_'We are not ready for a fight.  Haste is important, foolishness is not"_ **

 

Right.  That made sense, he'd need lyrium, need healing potions.  If Fenris needed help, or had been _taken_ , a mage with only his natural and spirit supplied well of mana would not be the most helpful person there.  Turning and racing over to his desk, Anders collected what he could, grabbing what would be useful in a fight and cursing how long it was taking him.  Seriously, where the heck was his shield enhancing ring?  Damn, he'd have to go without for now, this was really taking too long!  As soon as he got back and there were no more emergencies, he was going to prepare in advance.

 

Yet again the door slammed open.

 

Already automatically reaching for his staff, Anders let his hand fall as he realized that it was Fenris who’d so inelegantly entered the clinic, an almost crazed look on his face as he stormed up to the healer.  Relief swelled in him, followed closely by wariness, did Fenris know about the slavers?  Were they there for him? Was he hurt?

 

“Fenris?  Are you okay?”  He asked tentatively, raking his gaze over the other in a search for wounds and pushing aside his newfound appreciation for the warrior’s body.  Now was _really_ not the time.

 

“No.  Fix them.” Fenris demanded abruptly, thrusting his gauntleted hand towards Anders’ chest.

 

Understandably wary considering what he’d seen the warrior do, the healer took a slight step back, flushing at the wordless snarl his motion got in return. The way the warrior was acting banished all thought of the two of them having an actual explanatory conversation from his mind, and he focused on the arm presented to him, hoping it wouldn't extend through his ribs.  His heart and him had a good thing going.  Not to mention Darktown would likely need a healer as soon as the slavers died.  They'd also need someone to help kill them.

 

"What's wrong?  Is it something with the lyrium?  Did something happen?" He asked rapidly, having no idea what'd set the normally collected warrior off.  His arm looked normal, if a little more swollen than usual around the brands.  Had he met the slavers?

 

Letting out a wordless snarl, Fenris shook his arm. "Yes, the brands! You said you would heal them, get rid of the blood magic, so do it, now.  Danarius already has too great a grasp on my mind, if there is a solution at hand I will not let him have my body too!"

 


	20. Fenris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: Blood, violence, character death, slave!Fenris. Extended warning in end note**
> 
> Thanks!

_The soft gray haze rolled through the forest, casting shadows where there should've been none and covering all but what Fenris wished it to.  In contrast the woman’s face was lightly flushed, the color draining away to be swallowed up by the monochromatic cloud surrounding the three of them.  Her decent was slow, and it seemed she took forever to fall, eyes boring into the slave’s until her back hit the ground and her head flopped to the side, bouncing once before stilling.  Fenris’ own gaze was slowly dragged to the object in his hand, its mix of deep maroon and bright scarlet demanding all attention in the otherwise colorless forest.  His fingers seemed to have lost all strength after their last, violent act, and he couldn’t stop the feather-light organ from falling between them, landing with a muffled_ plop _on the dry leaves littering the ground below.  Eight ounces was nothing.  
_

_“My good pet.  I knew you’d do the right thing, knew you’d come back to me.”_

_The voice was a loving purr and the slave relaxed into it, his whole body turning to face the speaker with reverence._

_In return the grey haired man smiled, the milky white skin around his mouth unaccustomed to the movement and folding awkwardly in upon itself.  A pale hand stretched out, it’s perfectly manicured nails reflecting some unseen light as the fingers curled inwards, calling over the favored thrall.  Fenris took a step towards the man, the aristocratic mage, his eyes dipping in devotion._

_And landing on another face lying against the ground, the large horns protruding from either temple causing it to sit gracelessly.  The mouth was parted as if to get in one last word, when in truth its owner would never speak again.  Once more that challenging mixture of red drew Fenris’s eyes, down to stare at the place where the man’s body had once been attached, the empty space filled only with wetly shinning leaf mulch._

_Memories waltzed through Fenris’ thoughts, but it was movement which drew his attention next, as small droplets formed and fell from shining onyx, the greatsword in his hand blending with the surroundings._

_“Pet, come.” This time the voice was sharp, and the slave snapped to attention, stepping delicately over the flood of color to reach and kneel in front of his Master, sword lain over his thighs._

_Another extended moment of silence followed as a hand wove into Fenris’ white hair, softly stroking through the strands.  The slave turned into the affectionate action, closing his eyes and surrendering to joy of physical praise, as tame as it currently was._

_“Now, now, you’re not quite finished yet.  You’ve more to bring to me do you not?”_

_Fenris’ head snapped up, his eyes wide and aghast at his misstep.  Hair covered half of one eye from where his movement had pushed his Master’s hand up, but he didn’t move.  If the magister thought it an inconvenience he’d change it or demand change.  The slave’s own opinion was so irrelevant as to be nonexistent._

_A low chuckle did nothing to calm his sudden anxieties.  “That’s right.  Look, there are two you’ve missed.  You tried to use them to kill me”_

_The hand of his Master continued its affectionate petting and Fenris wanted to cry from the shame of trying to kill the magister before him.  Still, he didn’t let own inconvenient emotions get in the way of what needed to be done.  When the hand withdrew the slave stood, fluidly stepping into a fighting walk as he turned away from his loving Master.  A dwarf and a human stood in front of him, whispering frantically to each other, their voices echoing off stone walls into incomprehensibility.  It was the work of seconds to take out the human without her even noticing, the one he’d pegged as a greater threat, and move on to the other.  The human, Hawke, would’ve been able to draw her daggers faster, but Varric’s speed was limited by his inability to keep crossbow loaded at all times._

_The sword that had only moments previous buried itself through Hawke’s side and through her lungs flickered through the air, casually taking off the hand that reached for Bianca, then finished the stroke with a curve to the side, opening up the dwarf’s neck with a spray of red against the beaten dirt and stone of Darktown’s ground._

_Above them clouds roiled while below the haze remained unchanged, distant buildings and walls falling away into empty black.  Boarded up structures surrounded them, but Fenris’ gaze was drawn to the doors in front.  A guttering lantern cast it’s light out defiantly into the dark, but as the slave approached both were swallowed by a cool white glow._

_Though considerably more painful, it was a simple thing to phase through the wooden doors.  The scene he walked into stopped him in his tracks.  An abomination waited in the middle of the room, blue cracks splitting its skin and nearly outshining Fenris’ own glow.  The eyes were nearly gold though.  Honey-brown._

_“Fenris” The abomination spoke without moving its lips, the voice belonging to the mage beneath the vile fade-creature._

_The sound again brought him to hesitate, but he was a good slave, and he swept forwards, following the oxide mineral his sword was made from.  It let a loud reverberating clang as it hit the abomination’s wooden staff, and Fenris’ brows furrowed at the contradictory noise.  The uneven and shearing grind that followed as the sword sliced its way across the wood was also contrary, belonging to a serrated blade rather than his smooth one._

_None of the oddities were enough to stop him though, and he reached out with an ethereal hand only to be blocked again, this time by blue veined fingers twining with his own.  Red dripped where his gauntlets caught and tore, but neither of them paid any attention, though the slave couldn’t speak for the abomination’s reasoning.  His own was the feeling of wetness he associated closely with being stabbed before the pain hit.  Looking down and to his right offered only a confirmation.  Hawke must’ve noticed him coming after all._

_“Does he love you Fenris?”  The abomination’s words seemed nonsensical, and Fenris brought his blade up, the swing awkward, one handed and aimed from below._

_Nonsensical, but for some reason the slave answered anyways, frowning as this blow too was halted by the staff.  “I am his favored slave.”_

_A twist of wood and a burst of magic had Fenris crying out and dropping the weapon, left hand automatically going to the now literally burning stab wound.  He pulled on his other hand, but the abomination wouldn’t let go._

_It frowned and went to speak again, but this time the slave was ready.  It underestimated his drive to obey his Master, and the laceration bled freely as Fenris reached for the abomination’s throat._

_“Do you love him?”_

_An echoing_ snap _, and then the slave was withdrawing only to stumble when the creature refused even in the listlessness of death to let go of his hand._

_“Of course you do.”  The voice of his Master was always enough for him to respond, but Fenris could still not retrieve his limb, clumsily twisting and falling to his knees before the magister, one arm still stretched out behind him._

_“I am everything to you” His Master continued, smirking as he slowly strode towards the slave.  “You would not be here without me.  You are_ nothing _without me.”_

_“Yes Master.” Fenris bowed lower in reverence, ignoring the way his side tugged with the motion.  “I am yours, completely yours.”_

_Behind him, the dead abomination still held on._

 

Waking was not a sudden thing in the way that a punch to the gut was a sudden thing, for even that could be seen beforehand, in the corner of an eye or with a tell that instinct catches.  No, Fenris regaining consciousness was more like an unexpected shard of glass on the floor of an elegant household, a spark of arcane energy where one thought they were safe, or the sounds of Tevene in a city far from the Imperium.  It was an abrupt and unpleasant return to consciousness in which Fenris could still feel Anders' hand entwined with his own, and taste the fade charged air. 

 

His surroundings made no sense, and he was up and staggering towards the door without full comprehension, cursing at the crunch of glass beneath his feet and staring at his hands.  The edge of the door shoving itself into his shoulder was an afterthought, his forward motion secondary.  Why wasn't there more blood?  Why were his brands bright and the edges clean as if their story was not one of horror, turning him into a wild beast coming to heel at the foot of a Tevinter magister? 

 

His brands froze him, the cold piercing and jabbing with every step out of the mansion that he took.

 

The metal of his gauntlets gleamed in the early light of morning, but they were shining silver, not even a fleck of red to betray the warrior's almost obsessive cleaning of them the night before.  His breastplate too lacked any discolorations, not reflecting quite as brightly, but cared for all the same.  Cared for in the same way he'd been cared for.  As a weapon or a piece of armor.  Polished and cleaned to ensure use, but not loved, because an object did not need love, though this one had desired it.  Mistaken self-pride and soothing words for love because he'd so wanted it, but even as a favored slave it had been beyond his reach.  Still, Fenris had tried to please his master, had tried, and pled, and prostrated himself on the ground, lost all honor and dignity for the mere scraps he'd been thrown.  At the time it hadn't seemed wrong.  Now, even in his half aware state of mind he knew it was.  A weapon did not ask for love, armor did not desire gentle touch. 

 

What did it even matter anyways?  Fenris had loved Danarius, but no one had ever loved him.  And how could that not matter?  Especially when Varric had proposed that the slave felt affection for Anders, and the loud pirate he’d met the afternoon before teased him that _he_ was in love, once again with a mage.  Weapons did not love.

 

The warrior blinked slowly, his eyes having drawn themselves back to his hands almost as if by some force outside of his control, his brands now burning like fire.  He was not the same as the metal he wore or wielded.  Fenris was covered in blood, but he was sentient, not a piece of shining armor.

 

Shining because nothing had happened.  No blood had been spilt by his hands the night before, no favor regained or punishment taken from a merciful master who had every right to want to do what he willed with the warrior, because the warrior was property, and _should_ be like the armor, should be without his own will because the will of his master was all that mattered, because Fenris was a good slave, and it didn't matter that his master did not bestow him with love, because he already had so much, his touch, his voice, his seed-

 

Fenris jerked to a halt, eyes wide and still unseeing, but this time with a different kind of horror.

 

No.  No, Fenris was _not_ a slave, and Danarius could _rot_ if he thought he could change that again.  The warrior had bought his freedom with the blood of others, but the price had been paid damn it all, the magister could not keep taking what was not his.

 

The brands winding their way over his body begged to differ.  They _ached_ , greasy blood magic like an aura surrounding every bit of the scorching lyrium.  Making him feel unclean, violated, covered in hands who had asked no permission to touch him.  Had no right to cut him open and fill him with lyrium that consumed every bit of who he was, and replaced him with a near constant reminder that he was not free.  Every piece of the lyrium save one.  A trio of three dots that the abomination, the mage, Anders had healed.  Healed, and then Fenris had snapped his spine.  No, he hadn’t.  That hadn’t been real.

 

It was not the first time Fenris had woken from dreams of death, not even the worst.  He'd been falling asleep to murdered companions and humiliating memories since he’d left his Master behind, left Danarius behind.  He’d had peaceful sleeps, but they were few and far in between.  Especially when he’d lived with Anders, though he didn’t blame the abomination- the mage for it.  Both of them had their own nightmares.  Both woke the other up from them.

 

“Fenris!”

 

The warrior’s head jerked up and he came to a halt, having not even noticed he’d started walking again until he nearly ran into the middle-aged man who’d spoken, a human he didn’t recognize. 

 

Before Fenris could ask who he was and how exactly he knew the warrior, the man spoke again, his voice a rushed hiss. “You must leave!  There are people here searching for you.”

 

The tension in Fenris’ body flared, and his hand automatically twitched for his sword, eyes swinging around to the realization that he had made his way into Darktown.

 

“Who? Is Anders alright?”

 

The second thought came close on the heels of the instinctive one and he drew back minutely, pausing for a moment before filing it away for later.  It didn’t quite surprise him.  Not after the conversation with Varric, the explanation he’d been given in pieces as the dwarf and the pirate—what had her name been?—both talked at him, trying to explain a relationship between free people.  Parts of the conversation at least, much of it had been…  Well, at least the woman had toned it down after seeing how he’d reacted to the suggestion of him knowingly causing someone pain during sex.  He still wasn't a hundred percent certain on how he felt about the rest of it, but now was not the time.

 

"There are slavers here, crawling through Darktown, they’ve got good armor too, definitely not normal slavers” The man glanced deeper into the district, worry and fear blending on his face.  “They weren't trying to take anyone though, so uh, me, Flint ‘n Sasha, we went to try and figure out what they were doing.  We found, well, this.”  A piece of paper was thrust towards the warrior and Fenris automatically took it, his nose scrunching in displeasure at its forceful bestowal. “Flint and Sasha are out looking for you too.  You’ve got to go, run, hide somewhere ‘til the slavers leave...”

 

Fenris barely heard the words that followed the impartment, understanding and then discrediting them as unimportant.  The letters on the paper meant nothing to him, a separated mass of black scribbles, and there were no pictures or symbols to give him context. 

 

“What does this say?” He interrupted and the man stopped speaking, stilling in surprise long enough that Fenris began to bristle, remembering and repeating his earlier unanswered question of the mage’s safety.

 

It wasn’t _that_ unusual for him to be illiterate.  In Tevinter and among the medium and higher classes outside of it maybe, but he’d met other people in the clinic for whom Anders hadn’t been able to give written instruction.  Not many, but it wasn’t completely unheard of, and it wasn’t like he’d had the option and _chose_ to not learn.

 

“I meant no offence, this, it’s just a page but, uh, I think there were more,” The man stuttered, “It describes you, says that you’re, you’re, well.  It says that you’re to be captured, alive, but, bound.  And Sasha saw these, chains that looked like magic, they were glowing, and inscribed with something.  She, ah, thinks they do something to your,” Trailing off, the man made a lose gesture towards Fenris’ markings.  “And the other Healer, Anders, he’s fine, he’s in the clinic, closed it down, blew out the lantern, all good, so you got to go.”

 

Finally an answer about the mage, but the relief that gained was shoved aside by worry over the chains mentioned.  His markings throbbed.

 

“How do- Why are you telling me this?”

 

It made sense that they’d try and get an idea of what the slavers were doing, even if it was incredibly stupid to snoop around such people, but why would they actively seek the warrior out to warn him of danger?  He didn’t recognize this man, didn’t recognize the names thrown around. 

               

For some reason though, Fenris’ question seemed to offend the other, a frown appearing as he protested, “What, why?  Because you’re one of our Healers, you help us.  You saved Flint’s life just last week.  Just ‘cause we’re refugees doesn’t mean we don’t have loyalty.”  A noise like something smashing echoed from Darktown and the man flinched, all offence dropping in favor of the previous worry, “You gotta go, seriously Fenris, run, get out of here.” 

 

The warrior gave a short nod and stepped further into Darktown, letting out a soundless hiss as the man grabbed his arm, attempting to pull him back.  “What the hell are you doing, you’ve got to go somewhere safe!”

 

“I’m going to the clinic”

 

The words were out before Fenris had really thought them through, but there was no careful consideration needed.  There were slavers in Darktown, so the warrior needed the mage’s help to kill them.  It was simple. 

 

“Oh.  Right.  But uh, be careful okay?”  It was only then that Fenris realized the worry in the man’s tone was for him, and he turned to look at the other with an expression of confusion, quickly sparking into realization as he continued.  “‘Cause the Healer is a lot better with you ‘round, heck, _we’re_ doing a lot better, and it’d make everyone’s life a little easier if we don’t have to try and get you back.” 

 

The warrior tilted his head and barked out quick words of thanks before continuing into the district, leaving the man behind to make his own way to safety.  Fenris’ feet took him instinctively down paths in which he’d be obscured from sight, ducking around buildings and through overhangs on the way to the clinic.

 

Of course they would warn him.  He had been their lone healer for more than two weeks, it was natural to want to protect someone who helped out.  It wasn’t quite as strange as he’d first thought.  Well, it was, but also quite rational, and- Wait, shit.

 

If the slavers had chains specifically meant to deaden his brands, that meant they’d been sent by Danarius, or one of his cohorts.  Fenris’ markings let out a small pulse at the realization, a spasm rippling through them as they momentarily lit up. 

 

Danarius could control him, could make the second half of his dream a reality as easily as he’d created the first.  _Venhedis,_ he had to get rid of the blood magic.  It didn’t control him, not physically, but the amount of pain or pleasure the magister could send through them would easily drop Fenris in a fight, leaving the mage undefended if things came to that.  Even if it was just an apprentice or one of his lackeys, the risk that Danarius had taught them how to access and draw off of Fenris’ lyrium was too great.   

 

A rat scuttled underfoot, its sudden motion breaking into the flow of the warrior’s thoughts as they both sped through the unusually empty streets of Darktown.  The few people Fenris saw disappeared quickly, a few even making motions as if to warn him off, like they too knew who the slavers were searching for and wished to protect him.  It brought something of a warm feeling to the warrior, one quickly doused at the remembrance that they’d be collateral damage if Danarius gained a hold of him again.  If the magister said kill and Fenris was still too weak to deny his master anything.

 

No.  No, the warrior would _not_ allow his nightmares to come to reality.  He’d go to Anders now, get him to remove the blood magic, and then they’d kill the slavers and whoever came with them.  The abomination had promised he’d help Fenris, and together they’d _destroy_ whoever thought they could capture the warrior.  He’d be free.  Not now with the chains in his mind and wrapped around his body, but he would be free.  No one would take him. 

 

The clinic doors loomed up ahead, closed and the lantern unlit, the entire area appearing as a rundown section of Darktown, abandoned and empty.  After quickly glancing around, Fenris darted down the stairs, two more long strides taking him to the entrance. 

 

The doors opened too easily, unlocked and springing into the almost empty clinic with a bang.  The lack of security had the warrior’s scowl deepening, though he was pleased to see Anders’ hand lowering from where it’d automatically risen to his staff.  Not that satisfied though, the image was far too close to his dream.

 

“Fenris?  Are you okay?”  The other asked, eyes dancing over Fenris in what the that recognized to be a search for wounds.

 

“No.  Fix them.” His demand was accompanied by an arm thrust out in a mirror of the way the man had given Fenris the paper, and he distantly remembered it was still clutched in his lowered hand.

 

The step back the warrior’s abrupt motion caused had Fenris letting out a noise of frustration.  Did the mage really think so little of him that he’d, what, attack him in his own clinic?  Granted, Anders didn’t know about the conversations Fenris had had with Varric and that, interesting pirate—Elizabeth?  Isabel?—but still, he wasn’t a wild animal. 

 

"What's wrong?” The mage spoke before he could comment, rapidly spitting out questions as if to hide his moment of uncertainty “Is it something with the lyrium?  Did something happen?"

 

"Yes, the brands!” Fenris spat, “You said you would heal them, get rid of the blood magic, so do it, now.  Danarius already has too great a grasp on my mind, if there is a solution at hand I will not let him have my body too!"

 

“What-?” Anders jerked back, mouth almost comically agape, “Fenris, what the hell, you don’t even trust me!”  The warrior frowned, but before he could get a word in, the mage was continuing.  “Well, okay, maybe, I don’t know.  But the last time I saw you, you were ranting at me with a lot of confusion, and while I’m sure things have changed and you’ve thought that over, that doesn’t mean it’s- it doesn’t make _sense_ that you’d want to just jump into something that you barely trusted me to do the first time around.”

 

“You said you’d heal them” The warrior slowly drew his hand back, licking his lips nervously. 

 

Had he lied?  No, Fenris didn’t believe that, but then why was he refusing?  So what if the warrior didn’t completely trust him?  Something the lady—Olivia? Angelica?—had said popped into Fenris’ head, and he tilted his head slightly in comprehension.  If you cared for someone, you wanted them to make good choices.  Anders didn’t think the warrior had thought this through, didn’t want him to initiate something without full comprehension. 

 

“Yes! Yes, definitely I will!  I hate blood magic, I hate that it’s in you, I would like nothing more than to get rid of all of it, but I’m going to need to hear a little bit of your thinking before we jump into this.”  The mage grimaced, “Actually, no, we shouldn’t even, this isn’t the type of thing we jump into. Com-“

 

“There are slavers here looking for me.”  Fenris interrupted, glancing back towards the open doors. 

 

At this Anders froze in the middle of what may have turned into a spectacular rant.  “Right, the slavers, they're definitely here for you?”  He bit his lip, letting a long breath out through his nose.  “Danarius?”

 

The warrior shrugged, passing over the piece of paper.  “Could be.  Could be others he sent after me.  Does it matter?  If they know how to access my brands,” For a moment his mouth worked soundlessly, the dream slipping again through his mind before he shook it away.  “I can’t let that happen, I have enough chains already.”

 

Anders’ clenching jaw was almost an audible thing, and the healer looked away from the paper, raising a hand and then halting it in an abortive motion that would’ve done nothing to cover the blue light flaring in his eyes.  Not to mention the deep, multilayered voice that thundered from him a moment later.

**”** _**Time passes strangely outside of the fade, and removing the blood magic will require too much of it to take priority over ridding the world of your pursuers.  We will help you break your chains, but let us first kill the slavers.”** _

Then the demon- spirit was gone and Anders was back, eyes squeezing tightly closed as Fenris looked warily on, the angry statements like buckets of cold water.  Did the mage really have such little control?  And was the spirit making false demonic offers or speaking truly in it’s desire to help the warrior?

 

“Sorry, one second.  I- _we_ hate that they’re hunting you.  They’re vile, and Justice is, Justice is _angry_ about what they said about you, what they did to you.”  The words were spat through a tense jaw, and a moment passed before Anders seemed well enough to speak again.  “Right.  Sorry.  I didn’t mean to let him out, we just,”

 

“It’s alright” The warriorsounded the words out slowly as the mage trailed off, a sort of jittery adrenaline running through him with the presence of both the slavers and the spirit’s attempt at surfacing.  Was it alright?  Did it really matter at this point in time? “You will help me then?”

 

The words held a different weight than they had only moments previous.  The appearance of the creature had been enough to remind Fenris why he’d not yet gotten the blood magic removed, despite the affection he felt for Anders.  It was revolting, but he thought he might need to speak to the spirit first.  Find out what role it played in things.  Find out if he could go further, even though he had to, if he wanted to get past this.

 

“I’ll help you get the blood magic out of your brands, but not now.”  Anders said, worry over his spirit’s appearance still clear on his face.  “ _Now_ , well, as your healer, will you listen to me?  I swear Justice won’t harm you.”

 

Fenris heard the unspoken question, the fear Anders held over the warrior’s reaction the first time he met the spirit.  Here though, with the threat of Danarius looming over him like a shroud, he couldn’t seem to drag up the anger to give it credence.  The creature had been angry now about whatever the slavers had written about him, and before it had not harmed him even when he was spitting poison at the mage.  For now at least, he’d trust Anders to keep its anger from moving to him.  If they had more time, then perhaps he’d make mention, but as it was they didn’t.  The slavers were wreaking havoc in Darktown, and Fenris wished to be rid of his chains. 

 

So, he nodded.

 

A smile tentatively blossomed on the abomination’s face, and he stood up straighter, giving the warrior a nod of thanks.  “Alright then, great.”  He blew out a long breath, “So, umm, as your healer, I’d recommend that the healthiest option for you right now is joining me in killing some slavers, and then later having a nice, calm conversation about removing the blood magic.  That, sound okay?”

 

Fenris let out a snort of unexpected mirth.  “I suppose I could accept that.  I have some things I wish to speak to you about too.  And I suppose to your, spirit as well.”

 

A spark that had nothing to do with magic seemed to light up in the mage’s eyes, and he laughed in something that could’ve been either relief or added tension. 

 

“Right then, let’s go kill some slavers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: The first few paragraphs until it comes out of italics is a dream/memory of Fenris killing the fog warriors. Afterwards the memory turns into a dream of Danarius instructing Fenris to kill Hawke, Varric, and Anders in Kirkwall, which he does. Fenris' relationship with Danarius is abusive, as the magister plays on the his desire for affection in order to command him to do things.


	21. ???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all so much, you people are wonderful. Chapter!

Fenris shifted in place, rhythmically wiping down his gauntlets with an already bloody rag.  They were an extremely useful part of his armor, both in design and in their lyrium augmentation, allowing him to easily take them with him when he phased.   One thing they _weren’t_ , was easy to clean.  They were horrible to clean actually.  Of course considering other slaves had always done it for him, he hadn’t found that out until after he’d escaped, far too late to ask after tips or tricks in cleaning methods.  Whenever it had gotten particularly bloody or when its lack—along with the rest of his clothing—was a requirement, they’d take it away and he’d get it back shining like new.  It hadn’t mattered how it got clean, both because it was something not expected of him and because he’d been too busy focusing on other things.  Like taking his mind off exactly what went on when the armor had come off and Danarius got that look in his eyes which meant-

 

"You said you hadn't lied to me about what you did with my brands, just withheld information to do with Justice.  Yes?" He blurted out into the relative silence of clinic, forcing his thoughts away from the rabbit hole they’d been about to go down. 

 

His mind tended to go places he didn’t want it to most often when still coming down from an adrenaline rush.  Not to mention the dissonance from going again to face his aggressors only to find his sword swinging through empty air.  It was irritating, not to mention confusing when he’d bounce between contrasting emotions over the simplest things.  Helpful sometimes when going from bad to good, but vice versa, sometimes he found himself feeling very, very low. 

 

The sound of glass clinking against glass spoke of Anders’ statement at the sudden address, and Fenris ducked down to hide the sardonically amused twitch of his lips.  Such a clumsy mage, always dropping things and able to trip over air, yet easily managing multiple healing spells and precise footwork in battle.  The warrior really had no idea how he’d survived on his own this long.  Nor how he’d stayed free.  Anders wasn’t exactly the most subtle apostate to have walked the earth.

 

"Well, yes.” Anders agreed with the air of one stating common knowledge, though he hurried to reiterate his past assurance, “Nothing that would hurt you."

 

"Am I not the one who decides that?” He questioned lightly, meeting Anders gaze with a calm expression to detract any sting from the words                               

 

“Considering how out of it you were last time we had this conversation, I imagine you’d need to hear the explanation again.  I could recap with Justice’s roll included?” The mage offered, relaxing minutely and bending down to pick up the potion filled glass vials he’d dropped, letting out a pleased noise in reaction to the lack of cracks.

 

The warrior took a second to just watch Anders as he bent over, his body practically on display without his customary feathered robe.  Still too thin, although he had filled out a little since they’d first met.  The robe wasn’t the most flattering of clothing choices, but without it he looked, good.  Quite good. 

 

Strange, when what two people did together post physical appreciation was not good at all.

 

“Yes, do that.”  He belatedly answered, eyes trailing down the mage’s back and lower, distantly fantasizing on how it would feel to stand and approach him. 

 

How it would be if they were both wearing even less than their under-armor, and Fenris could fit himself to the mage’s back like he belonged there, trail hands across Anders’ chest and pull their hips flush, pulling a soft moan of want from the man.  They might remain like that for a bit while the warrior tasted the other’s neck, bit and licked and left _his_ mark on the mage.  Of course Fenris would eventually grow tired of waiting, and then he’d push forward and in, and the pleasure of such a thing would be enormous, he’d be crying out in passion while Anders…  While Anders.  There it ended.  How could sex ever be pleasant for the one being penetrated?  How could he be considering using the mage while only moments ago he’d been remembering his own, terrible experiences with intimacy?

 

“Of course.”  Anders was nodding, blissfully ignorant of the path his companion’s thoughts had been taking.  “Feel free to interrupt with questions, yes?"

 

Fenris shook himself slightly, surprised at how little it took to turn his thoughts back to conversation, as if being friends with the mage and dominating him were not completely different things.  “Just because you can’t keep your mouth shut long enough for someone else to give an explanation does not mean it’s true of everyone” He prodded just to be contrary, with an amusement he wasn’t quite sure why he felt.  “Stop tarrying."  Adrenaline.  He blamed it on adrenaline.

 

“I’ll have you know that I was a shining example of an obedient, well-mannered mage while in the circle.  All the Templars loved me.” The mages snarked back, and the warrior didn’t hold back his snort of amusement at the idea of an Anders who followed the rules and let others tell him what to do.  As if.  He would not be the man he was if he didn’t stand up for himself and what he believed, no matter what Fenris thought of said beliefs.

 

The mage grinned back at him, delight dancing across his face at the levity which had filled the conversation.  Nevertheless with a topic such as this one it had to end, and Anders went back to sorting the small potions, gravity chasing away much of the joy. 

 

“As you know,” He began, “I first had to figure out the difference between your lyrium and the blood magic, something far easier than it sounds.  Blood magic is vile normally, and with Justice as a passenger it’s absolutely _disgusting_.  It would make a human feel sick, but Justice being well, a spirit of _justice_ , gets really up in arms about it, and prepares to fight.  You should see the spirit with blood mages.  I mean, there’s the normal instinctive knowledge that this is one of the mages that give the rest of us a bad name because they had to go and give into the temptation of blood magic, but then there’s also Justice, raging away in the back of my head.  He hates blood magic, can’t understand why anyone would turn to it- and that’s beside the point.  Just know that it’s really simple to tell the difference between what is you, and what’s not."

 

_Small groups of slavers had scattered through the district, spread out in the hopes of locating and capturing Fenris quicker.  A senseless strategy, considering how easily Anders knew the warrior had proven his prowess in fighting even a medium sized group.  Had they been thinking they would’ve all gathered together, joined forces to overwhelm Fenris with sheer numbers. Of course they were slavers, and this particular batch was evidently not know for thinking.  
_

_The slavers had made something of an effort to blend in, but it was simple to see the difference between them and the refugees or Darktown natives.  Metal gleamed where it should’ve been covered in dirt and mud.  Weary, tired steps were replaced by strong, arrogant strides.  Malice oozed and lingered, calling attention in a place where attention meant nothing good.  Their arrogance had them standing out among the citizens, and the danger they brought had all slipping away as quickly as possible.  Not all made it._

_Anders stopped to feel for a pulse on a body the slavers had left in their wake, but only silence greeted him and he shook his head at Fenris, urging them to move on.  Questioning innocents for the location and capture of another innocent via torture was not just, and from the wounds it was obvious that the slavers were unpracticed and uncaring of collateral damage.  Useless, redundant.  Loss of life at the whims of cruel people with no care for others._

_A scraping noise sounded up ahead, and Anders followed quickly behind Fenris as the warrior strode towards its origin, scowling fiercely at the indiscernible conversation in its wake._

_They approached the next street carefully and came upon the group of slavers unseen, pausing to watch them break into an already derelict warehouse.  Three of the slavers went inside, one waiting in front as a watchdog._

_A quick paralytic glyph had the man freezing while turned down the other direction of the street, giving enough time for Fenris to race up and snap his neck, catching the corpse and lowering it lightly to the ground.  Another shared glance and they entered the building behind the others, moving slow to account for the darkness._

_The three inside were spread out, but when one called out about a trapdoor they converged, crowding around it like cows around a salt lick.  The one in the heaviest armor bent down and began trying to pry it open, his grunts and struggles easy cover for the healers to get closer._

_Catching the warrior’s gaze, Anders moved his hands in a spell without magic, trying to convey what he planned to go.  The other shook his head in confusion, but another repeat of the motion had a light dawning._

_They shared another glance, the warrior closed his eyes, and a fireball flew towards the group._

“Moving on from that, you remember what I told you about stagnant magic?” Anders inquired as Fenris worked to get a very stubborn piece of gore out from between two of the plates in his left gauntlet. “Spells designed so that the magic can sustain itself for a period of time?  And about balance in magic classes?  Sorry this is a little jumpy, but I promise it all has purpose in the end.”

 

“Of course.” Fenris raised an eyebrow mockingly, snorting at the offend air Anders put on in reply.  Before they could get off topic, he continued, reeling off words he remembered rather clearly.  “’Stagnant magic is a type of spell that creates something for a period of time.  Technically almost all magic is stagnant magic, the difference is in how long until the magic runs itself dry.  Quicker with certain spells like a fireball for example because it’s a ball of fire passing through the air while fueling itself on magic, or else it would go out as soon as it left your hands.  Longer for glyphs and such.’  With my brands the magic, the _blood_ _magic_ is sustained indefinitely by lyrium.” Those vile words were spat, but he made an effort to tone it down when referring to the mage’s own magic and knowledge.  “And I also remember your speech on balance, or part of it at least.  ‘Restoration is the opposite of a multitude of classes, including blood magic and most destruction magic.  Each class has an opposite, an antithesis if you will.  Due to lack of exploration however, mainly because so many people fear advances in magical knowledge, not all classes or opposites have been discovered yet.”

 

“Huh, word for word.” Anders chuckled, rocking backwards on his heels and grinning at Fenris, adoration slipping into his voice as he mused out loud, “You’re brilliant.”

 

The warrior coughed into his hand, determinedly staring at his gauntlets.  “I even included your pro mage propaganda, you should be so proud.” He dryly added to avoid focusing on the compliment.

 

“You did!”  Anders exclaimed in delight, as if that particular fact had escaped his notice until Fenris pointed it out.  “I knew there was still time to convert you to my evil ways.”

 

The warriorsnorted, “You’ll have to try a little harder then.  Healing and protecting me aren’t very good examples of a conniving blood mage.  Not to mention your countless rants on blood magic, they nearly number your tirades on Templars and the Circles”

 

“You never know,” The mage said after a small pause in which his grin gentled back to something a lot softer.  “It could all be a part of my evil plan.  Trick you into thinking I’m just a harmless innocent apostate.  Next thing you know, you’re extolling the wonders of cats and throwing their litter at the Templar Commander whenever she goes past on one of her rants about malificar and evil mages.”

 

“Throwing litter?  You’d make a terrible magister with ideas as terrible as that.  Not to mention your inability to hold a con that long, you’re horrible at lying.”  Fenris shook his head, fondly remembering a time Anders had claimed his cat got stuck in the wall and he had to go help her so he couldn’t possibly stay to listen to a robe maker lauding the wonders of her newest, featherless robes. 

 

Anders laughed, evidently remembering the same thing, or perhaps another story equally as ridiculous.  It certainly wouldn’t be a surprise to lean he’d come up with even more preposterous excuses. 

 

“I’ll take _that_ as a compliment.” He tilted his head in exaggerated thanks, lifting one hand to fiddle with his hair tie as he grinned at the warrior.

 

“You should.”  Fenris replied softly after a pause, unable to meet Anders eyes and speaking somewhere around his robe’s hideous feathers.

 

In his peripheral vision he could see Anders open his mouth, close it, and then duck down to determinedly scribble on the label of a potion.  “And off track, once again” Anders mumbled, cleared his throat and started again, saving them both from having to deal with the fact that they’d been flirting.  Or saving the warrior, at least.

 

“Regarding class opposites.  When fighting a blood mage, one of the best ways to counteract their spells is by healing them right before they cast.  It can get quite tiresome though, and I wouldn’t recommend doing it a lot, as-nope.  That’s off track again.  So.  When trying to subtly feel out the blood magic in your markings turned it active and caused you a lot of pain, I tried something like that instead, shocking the blood magic with a stronger pulse of healing magic.”  He explained, and the warrior tried to keep his breathing steady, letting his mouth fall slightly open to pre-emptively get more air as the words sunk in.  “The shock pushed it back far enough that I could actually work around it without losing grip on my magic ‘cause it’s so not-good feeling, and the healing magic dampened your pain- Fenris?  Are you okay?”

 

“Ah, yes” The warrior cleared his throat, flexing his fingers and forcing himself to accept the fact that Anders knew how to activate his brands, and then move on.  The mage had known how this whole time and done nothing.  Obviously, there was nothing to worry about.  There was nothing to worry about.  If he thought it enough…

 

There was a pause, but thankfully Anders dropped it, returning to the topic. "Justice helped me with that.  With creating healing spells thin enough to fit inside your brands, yet strong enough to ward off the blood magic.  Then, once we’d cut off and out the portion of your brands that had been infected, we worked together to add the new lyrium."

 

 

 

_The sudden light caught the slavers off guard and the healers descended.  Justice flickered into control in time to slam another paralyzing glyph underneath the feet of the slaver posed to catch the fireball in his chest, and it exploded like it had hit a brick wall, a haze of chunky red bursting with it._

_Rage filled the healer and his spirit against the people who were trying to take away Fenris' freedom, and the walls sparked a deeper blue to match the glowing silver already dancing in the dim space.  None of these slavers would leave Kirkwall or even Darktown alive, that they both agreed on._

_Anders’ eyes caught a flash of metal as another slaver drew his sword, and an arcane bolt broke his ribs at nearly point blank.  Ever the warrior, Justice followed the spell with an upswing of what would’ve been his sword, a slight vibration in the immediate Fade signaling the loss of life as the staff caught on his chin, snapping his neck._

_The red line across Anders' arm drawn by a flailing hand grasping a dagger was a consequence barely felt as Justice let the corpse fall, stopping to watch Fenris. As ever the warrior was fluid in his movements, lopping an arm almost casually off the last slaver and reversing his stroke to slam the hilt against the others' bare head._

_A true silence fell in the warehouse with the thud of the last body, and the spirit healer met Fenris’ eyes as the other looked up, warily meeting eyes the color of grace warded lithodora, growing lush and careless in demon ridden Tevinter. The blue glow was the first to fade, silver following after._

_There was no conversation to be had as they exited the warehouse, Anders going first to avoid Fenris insisting he do so.  They took off heading in the same direction they originally had been, and the mage wondered whether or not he should be putting more effort in making the warrior feel comfortable around them, especially with the likelihood of Justice coming out more during their fighting._

_Then again, Anders had already joined with Justice.  Whatever the outcome, that was done now, and there was no turning back.  If Fenris couldn’t accept that, Anders would_ not _be tip-toeing around trying to save his feelings.  He would die for the warrior’s freedom, but there were some bigoted ideas the mage had no patience for._

_Well, Fenris’ point on possession wasn’t completely without basis, but Spirit Healers were completely different than abominations.  Not to mention his and Justice’s story was a purely unique one.  Anders had never heard of a spirit being trapped outside of the Fade before, not to mention the strange limbo Justice was hanging in.  Possessing the mage semi-normally by existing in the Fade and touching the real world via Anders, but abnormally in the inability to do more than pull power from their home.  The spirit couldn’t see it or return there, only feel it as if at the edge of consciousness._

_Another group of slavers appeared at the other end of the road, and Anders brushed away his concerns.  They’d both be fighting next to Fenris in the future, something that was unavoidable.  They wouldn’t be able to let their guard down around him either, which was unfortunate, but the warrior still hadn’t accepted Justice, and it was better to be a little wary than to end up on the wrong side of one Anders had become so fond of._

_Whatever came to pass would pass.  With, or without their help._

 

"Worked together.”  Fenris sounded it out slowly, wondering yet again how different spirits and demons were.  Was it not a multitude of demons that had helped Danarius in his research to brand Fenris the first time?  “Your spirit was the one to put more lyrium in my brands?"

 

"Yes.  That part I technically could've done, but Justice can purify lyrium when using it.” A pause as the mage searched for words.  “Justice is stuck here, but their power is still drawn from the Fade.”  Anders hesitated again, grimacing slightly in the way he did when mentally unable to ramble.  “I, can't exactly explain how lyrium ends up purified because I can only sense it happening and Justice can't figure out how to clarify in terms I actually understand, but if you want I can have Justice try and explain it to you?"

 

The warrior matched the mage’s grimace, though his was for a completely different reason.  Did he want to talk to the creature possessing his friend and drawing him into the evils of the Fade?  Humph, as if. "You can't summarize it?"

 

Anders shrugged, "I’ll try, but don’t expect much.  Ahem.  Justice draws all the mana from the lyrium into the Fade, does something, and then it's pulled back out and into the lyrium again, only it's clean.  None of the little contaminations that lyrium so often picks up here in the mage friendly south.”  He wrinkled his nose in disgust, and with the conversation topic Fenris really shouldn’t have found it endearing.  “It’s ridiculous how much cleaner it should be.  I can barely drink a vial of the purified stuff without feeling sick, yet that’s what I should be used to" For a second it looked like Anders was going to start yet another long winded tirade against lyrium conditions in the ‘mage friendly south’, but he shook his head.  “Keeping on track, we really didn’t need to do much to get the lyrium back into your brands.  It’s like, without the blood magic your body accepts the lyrium as if it’s supposed to be there.  When we put down more, healing it back into your skin was a simple thing.”

 

"I see.” Fenris answered after a moment of contemplation. 

 

They’d healed it into him.  He’d said that before, if Fenris recalled correctly.  Not branded it, not laid down with multiple cutting spells that he’d still be able to feel years from now.  Just healing, the one branch of magic Fenris could, if not like, at least accept.  

 

Really it was ridiculous how little of the original explanation the warrior had retained.  Although he supposed recovering from near death played a part in the memory loss.  There were whole days when he’d first woken up after his branding that he still couldn’t recall.

 

“And will this need to be repeated for the rest of my brands?" He asked, knowing which answer he was waiting for.  If Anders thought they would need to replace all the lyrium, Fenris would believe him, but he would _not_ be going through with it.

 

"Absolutely not.”  Anders’ instant denial was layered with disgust, and a touch of a deeper voice echoed in it.  “No way.  Taking out the lyrium was, to put it extremely lightly, not a pretty thing to have to put someone through, and I imagine you liked it even less. The only reason we took any out in the first place was because rust from the dagger tip had gotten into it and we didn't think we could get it all out without multiple cleansings.   And considering how terr-furious you looked when you saw my magic, I didn't think you'd allow us to keep on checking you for poisoning.  So nope.  That kind of shock could kill you, not to mention that neither Justice nor I have any idea how to do anything more, nor any desire to."

 

Well that was semi-comforting, at least.  He’d no desire to go through that again either, not to mention had no idea whether he’d wake up from it the same person as he was now.  Who knew what a mage would do with a blank memory slate in such a powerful weapon.  Well, Fenris knew, Fenris had _lived_ through what a mage had done, and he would not be doing it again.  He believed that Anders wanted the best for him, but this mage had already proven himself weak. 

 

“There was more though, to you adding lyrium.  Wasn’t there?  You said last time that-” Fenris paused trying to remember exactly _what_ the mage had said.  When he began again it was slow, plucked from half remembered moments lying on the mage’s bed.   “You, healed layers of it into the wound.  Thin layers, so that my body” Here he couldn’t stop his lips from twisting into a snarl “ _accepted_ it.  That is still true?"

 

Anders had winced apologetically when Fenris spoke of the lyrium being returned, but a hint of a mirroring scowl appeared at the warrior’s end question. 

 

"Yes Fenris, that’s _still_ true. I didn't- I tried my best not to lie to you.  I omitted things or didn't admit Justice came up with parts, but that was for my safety” He explained as if he hadn’t already done so many times since the grand reveal.  “I'd always planned on telling you about Justice before doing anything with your brands."

 

“Hmm.” He supposed he believed the mage, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it.  "Go on then. Tell me again how you removed the blood magic."

 

Fenris could tell how much of a struggle it was for Anders to not argue further, but the topic was allowed to pass.   "Well that goes back to stagnant spells.”  He said, settling back to start labeling the potions.   “Cutting the blood magic off from your lyrium.”

 

 

 

_It was easy to locate more after they took down the second group of slavers, laughable how little thought the scum had put into finding Fenris.  Anders would’ve been offended on behalf of the warrior, if the slavers stupidity was not making their lives a little easier._

_Leaving their first encounter with a magic using slaver tamed the offense some, especially as Anders healed the frost burn covering his lower legs.  Winter’s Breath was a useful spell in any arcane vocabulary, but not one he appreciated when others used it against him.  His and Justice’s combined attention had been called by a rogue slaver appearing out of nowhere, and it was only Fenris’ quick moving that saved him from cold that would’ve ended with the loss of a foot, or perhaps some toes.  Justice had called out their gratitude, but the warrior hadn’t replied, merely looked at the spirit healer with an incomprehensible expression that did nothing to alleviate any of Anders’ stress._

_And so it continued._

_Here a pair of slavers in an alleyway, there a few under an awning.  Anders contemplated the shades of red sprayed across Darktown walls and thought about removing the bodies, but they always moved on without.  The pursuit of killing as many slavers as had entered Darktown in search of Fenris was too important to waste time cleaning what had likely never been cleaned before.  They still didn’t know who waited for them at the end, and it would be an easier confrontation without the added fatigue that came from moving so much dead weight.  Slavers didn’t deserve such attention anyways.  They’d be looted later and likely moved into the sewer to rot.  Such was justice in Kirkwall._

_Fury was a steadily growing emotion as they fought against those who'd enslaved the warrior and thousands more like him, and Justice took more and more control. Now that the warrior knew of the spirit’s presence, they gave little thought to hiding, leaving Anders to worry in moments of silence that he would be the next casualty of the warrior's elegant violence._

_In contrast to Fenris’ grace, they were brutal, the hatred usually reserved for Templars slipping easily into their feelings on the slavers.  Not that they didn’t hate them already, things now were just that much more personal._

_Fenris still didn't comment, and Anders wasn't sure if that made it better, or worse_ .

 

 

 

"We squished the blood magic into as little area as possible by pressing healing magic in on it from all directions, which, let me tell you, feels disgusting, I've no idea how you've lived with- ahem.  The laws of arcane physics became a problem with working around it then, because blood magic will only retreat so far before it starts fighting back.” The mage let a small sound of triumph as the label he was working on finally stuck to the glass, something only it, out of the five he’d done already, could not do.  Fenris pretended Anders’ misfortune didn’t amuse him, and continued cleaning the armguard.  “Much sooner than something like stagnant illusion magic for example, which typically holds its shape for as long as possible before shattering, but also later than destruction magic, which almost immediately fights back."

 

This was the first he’d heard of that.  "Expand on 'fighting back'"

 

"Well,” And there was the gleam in Anders’ eyes that made Fenris think he’d have been a good teacher, “Different magic, both in class and caster, reacts in different ways when one pushes on it or moves it around.  Aggressive magic typically fights the one touching it, even if it’s against the original caster.  Magic’s with more of a neutral stance tend to react in a couple different ways- _but,_ you want to know about the blood magic in you.  It well, lashed out.  It was meant, I think, to lash out at you, but attacked me and Justice instead because with our magic in you, we were closer.  As for what it did, you know, just the usual things, fiery pain, crawling sensations, seductive or evil whispering too low to actually hear.  Fun fact, those are also the most common symptoms that my patients who've recently visited a brothel report.  Including the seductive whispering.  Who knew the Blooming Rose was potentially haunted, eh?”

 

The unexpected humor had the warrior snorting, and he ducked his head, resuming his furious scrubbing at a particularly stubborn patch of blood. “That's not funny."

 

"What?” Anders slapped his hand over his heart in mock offense, “I know you laughed, you totally laughed, which means you thought it was funny!  You can't take that back"

 

“I did _not,_ and I've no need to.” He denied, still hiding his smirk.  The mage really was insufferable with how he could bring humor to the worst of situations.  Fenris wondered if that made _him_ insufferable as well considering how he appreciated it.  Maybe just mental.

 

"I _will_ get you to admit you like my sense of humor.”  Anders threatened teasingly.  Fenris paused in his motions and raised an eyebrow.  The mage held his stare for a few moment, then looked away with an extravagant sigh, giving up.  “Anyways.  My magic wasn't enough, but with Justice's too we were able to create a healing wall strong and thin enough to cordon off that piece of blood magic. Took its fuel sources away, and it died."

 

The abrupt end had the warrior’s eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.  “It died?  That's it?”

 

“Yup.”  Came the confirmation.  “Blood magic gone, just like that.  Was quite anticlimactic."

 

 

 

_Finding the leaders of the slavers was an unpleasant thing, as increased proximity also increased the amount of corpses found which did not belong to slavers.  More questioning of the poor people on the location of the lyrium ghost, and the same amount if not less satisfaction with the answers._

_Even as they reached people killed not by the slavers they’d already taken out, the most cursory of examinations showed that whoever had ‘questioned’ the residents hadn’t done a thorough job of it.  Justice flickered into control at Anders’ conclusion that they probably hadn’t even cared what answers they were given.  Likely they’d simply wanted to commit murder, finding some sadistic pleasure in the loss of life.  Fenris wondered aloud at the lack of evidence to taking prisoners as more slaves, and neither arcane being had an answer._

_They found the leader of the slavers, and as the brutal murderers had shown no mercy, they were shown none in return.  Retribution or justice, consequences for their actions would've been taken anyway._

 

 

_Magic and steel cut through the air, and what should've been an uneven battle against the healers was supplemented by rocks and arrows; weapons fashioned by a weaponless people who would fight for what belonged to them regardless.  Without a rallying point they were a mere rabble, but focus gave people hope, and hope, though delicate, was a dangerous thing to wield._

_Fenris easily kept the majority of the attention on himself—in a fight the warrior commanded attention, when his confidence traveled into social situations there was no looking away—but some of the slavers branched off, aiming to take out the Darktown citizens who’d appeared between buildings and on precarious ledges above.  None fell silently, and Anders found himself pulling back, focusing solely on healing and protection spells._

_It was an uncoordinated battle, with one side a mix of farmers, old soldiers, refugees, an apostate and a lyrium ghost, and the other side trained Tevinter slavers, but higher ground and numbers tipped the scales. The rabble and the slavers fought, and the rabble won._

_The last slaver had barely hit the ground before Anders was releasing shields and running forward, healing hands already raised. His Grey Warden days had him automatically searching out the worst wounded first, yet it was still something of a challenge to turn away from Fenris.  The warrior had had the bigger part of_ _the healer’s attention throughout the fight, there was no way he was physically hurt enough to justify letting others lose limbs or die._

_Even so, his determination could not get him all the way past his weariness, and with only one lyrium potion left Anders was soon forced to give up.  None more would die that day, but a few were sent to the clinic, either walking or on the arms of others.  He could help them later, once he’d collected Fenris and they figured out the next step.  Though there hadn’t been one present, there may still have been a magister behind all this._

_A few of the still well citizens started looting the bodies, and the mage staggered over to where he'd last seen his companion._

_Anders approached the warrior carefully, taking in his position slumped against a dusty rock wall, head down and examining paper the mage had only recently found out he couldn’t read.  The mage had taught him the names of herbs and potions, his own name and Anders’, but such things were very unlikely to find in a slavers’ commands.  Except Fenris’ name, that might be there._

_Not knowing what else to do, Anders asked after the warrior’s health, receiving nothing but the paper Fenris’d been holding, the rest of the note he’d stormed into the clinic with.  The offer of reading it aloud was declined without explanation, and the mage assumed one of the others had already read it._

_The curving lines formed disgusting orders, and he felt Justice surge, their anger boiling without purpose.  A glance up and four words and a contraction confirmed their suspicion._

_This had been the work of a random group of dishonored slavers.  Hunters indeed, but belonging to a magister Fenris had only ever heard of.  The tone of the note spoke of a suicide mission to regain status, one where success was unlikely but high in value if it did come to pass.  Not one of Fenris’ main pursuers, not even one who could be half-arsed to come out and chase the warrior themselves.  Just another reminder that in Tevinter’s eyes, Fenris would never have his freedom._

_Anders looked up again to meet the warrior’s gaze, and his breath caught at the determination and strength in them.  Whatever Tevinter thought of Fenris, the warrior did_ not _agree._

Anders shrugged, rubbing his face in guilty helplessness "After that- oh,” The mage stopped, frowning into open air.  “Justice wants to talk to you.  Are you, alright with that?"

 

Fenris stiffened, flicking his eyes back up from where he'd been contemplating the floor and wondering at how simple Anders made removing the blood magic seem.  It couldn't really be that easy, right?  And how would he even know if that _was_ easy? It's not like Fenris had any experience using magic, just what he'd seen.

 

To the mage’s question a nod was easier than spoken consent, and in return blue cracks opened across Anders' face, the creature inside calm as it had not been while fighting the slavers.

 

 _"_ ** _Fenris,_** _"_ The creature began, but the warrior shook his head, cutting it off.

 

"You fought against the slavers, yet Anders didn't allow it.  You took control." At least Fenris thought so. 

 

He couldn't see Anders letting it out where people might see, and with how frantically guilty the mage had looked afterwards, he doubted it even more.  Therefore the creature took over without asking, therefore Anders didn't have as much authority in his body as he pretended to. 

 

It was a horrible thought, to be a slave within one’s own body.  A horrible reality that the warrior had been subjected to, and despite the fact that it was the mage’s own choice what allowed this, he wished to help the other.

 

 **_"Anders and I disagree on very little, and where there are Templars and where there are slavers we are in complete agreement.”_** The abomination answered, its even two-toned voice ill-fitting the body underneath fade fissures.  **”** ** _You have the potential to become a distraction, but your death or return to slavery would be a great injustice.  Not only due to the oppression of your life thus far, but also because there is still much we need to speak about, much that needs to be done."_ **

Perhaps it was because Fenris had not had a conversation with the creature yet and it was trying to get as much out as possible, but the warrior wasn’t exactly sure what to do with the dump of information it had let out.  Sorting through the points, Fenris plucked one question out at random.

 

“A distraction? You've said you weren't going to kill me" _Not that he was foolish enough to trust a Fade creature with his life_ "Is that predicted to change?"

 

 **_"No.  I will not kill you._ ** **"** The creature frowned, and the warrior wondered if it could feel offended.  Then he wondered if it even mattered, considering what it was.  **" _Yo_** ** _u are a distraction because Anders has come to care for you in a way that will draw his attention away from justice for mages."_ **

He might’ve felt warm about the verbal confirmation on how much the creature’s host cared for him, but he could only be disgusted by how _wrong_ the creature was, staring out from Anders’ eyes.

 

Clenching his jaw, Fenris glanced away before quickly looking back, a glare easy across his face. “I disagree with your cause.  The moment they are free, mages will make themselves-" he cut himself off.  He was spending too much time with Anders, going off tangents the mage would happily trail down without a thought. “No, now is not the time.  There is nothing you can say that will have me trusting in good intentions.  Having a mage, having Anders fiddle around in my brands is one thing, but you are a _fade creature_ "

 

 **"** ** _I am a spirit,”_ ** The creature boomed, and Fenris’ hand flexed around the metal he had long since finished cleaning.  “ ** _No fade creature, nor your previous accusation of demon.  I am Justice.  The injustice that was done to you was great, and my very nature would have me fixing it."_ **

It saw itself as a cause for 'justice', but Fenris had no idea what form that might take.  Who knew how far a creature from an inherently evil place would go for its ideals.  The warrior had often been the instrument of Danarius’ justice, he knew what twisted places a fade touched being could go in a quest to right wrongs.  He knew the twisted places someone without magic could go.  Justice was not a concrete idea.

**_"I cannot change your past"_   ** The creature resumed as if it's ire had not been raised **_"But your future I can aid you in.  We will strike to shatter the chains your pursuers will try and control you with, and when they present themselves they will find only death."_ **

That was, probably the best he was going to get.   It wasn’t good, was barely _okay_ but it was more than nothing. 

 

The creature wasn’t a demon, Fenris knew that to be true.  He wasn’t fully on board with ‘spirits’ either, but he could accept that they were not outright evil.  Or at least they didn’t start that way.  Maybe weren’t, inside the fade.  Maybe it was the real world that changed them.  It didn’t really matter, either way. 

 

Rubbing absently at the brands on his hip, the warrior came to the conclusion that the spirit, however twisted it may become, was, right now, not lying about wanting to help.  Anders believed that too, and he hadn’t lied yet.  Maybe in the future things would change, but perhaps now, before whatever tainted ideals the creature held grew, was the best time to give a little. 

 

There was a lengthy pause in which Fenris contemplated and got the impression that the creature had little concept of time, then it spoke again, going back to their original conversation without so much as a notice.

 

 **"** ** _After we removed the magic walls that caged and destroyed the blood magic, the corruption in the rest of your lyrium began creeping back in."_ ** It stated, scowling at the mention of blood magic, Anders’ face moving strangely in the spirit’s parody of disgust.  **“** ** _To counteract such, we created a small stagnant weave of healing and anchored it into the lyrium."_ **

He'd forgotten about that.  Anders had told him before, but he'd had no knowledge of stagnant spells, no ideas of the more technical terms to the magical horrors he'd seen.

 

 **"** ** _However speaking on that, the corruption did not originate in your brands.  As such, if we were to remove all of it there would be no need for any magic to remain_ ** **."**

Comforting though the words may have been, the motionless way it sat took away all reassurance.  Death's silence was something Fenris was familiar with.  The stillness of a thing not belonging in its current bodily residence?  He was not familiar, and had no wish to become so.

 

 **“** ** _You asked for help,”_   ** The creature reminded him not unkindly.  Not warmly either. “ ** _A_** ** _nd this is what we propose.  Systematically removing the blood magic from your lyrium until it is gone."_ **

That was what they proposed.  A way to rid Fenris of a portion of the filth that tainted him, a few of the hands that ran over his skin, spreading their unwanted touch in long lines across his body.  It was a simple solution in an unknown language, explained in terms he could understand.  Perhaps not comprehend to the level of a native speaker, but he could grasp the translation.  The translation that allowed a mage and an abomination intimate access to the lines other mages and demons had used to control Fenris.  Still, they'd already taken access and not done anything but heal him, and though he maintained reasonable concerns, there did indeed come a point in offers of help at which he had to give in.  Plus, people weren’t exactly jumping at the chance to help him, not that he’d trust them even if they were. 

 

In the past the warrior had learned quickly that gentle and even loving words from Danarius preceded pain and an affection he was only now fully figuring out was abusive and wrong.  This mage had shown the opposite.  Gentle words before clean, soothing healing, soft touches that ended before Fenris could become discomforted, a crooked smile of shared amusement rather than mockery.  More days had passed than it had taken him to mistrust Danarius, yet it seemed so much harder the other way around.

 

"I wish to speak with Anders again."

 

There was a short silence before the creature answered him, the crackling lines unfading.  **"** ** _As of yet we have only met at times when it was not possible for us to speak further, and while I admire your tenacity against distractions, we must have a conversation.  Anders has always told me that things are not so clear cut here as they are at home.  You, for instance, come from a situation that is disturbing to me, more so in its dichotomy with our Cause.  We will not give up, but your situation has convinced me to listen."_ **

Fenris blinked, surprised, and then repelled.  What did the spirit think it was suggesting?  That they'd have a nice sit down and chat about how the mages it was looking to free would only turn around and enslave others in turn?  The idea was ridiculous, but the warrior found himself considering it. 

 

As unlikely as it was to change its stance, perhaps he could ward off or, barring that, lessen whatever earth shattering decision it took over Anders’ body to make in the future?  Not that Fenris hadn't already decided that there was a possibility Anders could keep it under control.  However, if he could help the mage in return by guiding his passenger along a path less likely to lead them to destruction, didn’t he owe it to him to do so?  No, of course not.  He owed Anders nothing.  All that the mage had done for him had been freely given, with no chains that would hold Fenris.  No, if he were to do this, it would be the same.  Help without cost, because he liked Anders, and wanted him to be happy.  Wanted him to be free.  Free from the Templars, the Circle, and this creature that inhabited him.

 

If it were possible to kill it without harming Anders, Fenris would do so in a heartbeat.  Of course then he'd need to be constantly on guard in case Anders' weakness had him succumbing to another.  So which was better?  For him to already have succumbed and to know the creature he'd let in, or to never know whether or not a demon would appear behind golden eyes in some moment of strife?  An interesting conundrum, and one he would not consider now.  Speaking to the creature would have to do.

 

He waited a moment longer, than inclined his head, eyes never leaving the glowing ones in front of him.  "Very well."

 

And that was enough for the cracks to close, the creature within crawling back to hide again beneath an unassuming human covering.  Said human blinked rapidly as if attempting to adjust his eyes to the light, and Fenris tilted his head, watching as Anders righted himself.

 

"Fenris?" The mage ventured awkwardly, glancing around at the still sleeping clinic patients and then back to the warrior. “Thanks for speaking with Justice, but, ah, do you have any, thoughts on this? Well no, I'm sure you have lots of thoughts, but do you have any you'd like to share with the class?  'Cause I'm getting a little nervous here, have to admit.  Not that playing a visitor while Justice came out helped any."

 

The warrior rolled his eyes, "Do you understand silence, or must you always ramble?  Not even a minute has passed"

 

"Hey now!" Anders reeled back and Fenris wondered at the hurt in his eyes.  He had been trying to tease, yet the mage’s tone said he’d struck a nerve "I know a lot more-"

 

" _Mage!_ " He interrupted, “I meant no offense”

 

Anders’ mouth stayed open for a couple more seconds, then he closed it, giving a short nod of acceptance.  “I speak because I can.  I have a voice, and I have been through enough silence to drive anyone mad.  I, know you didn’t mean offense, but I’d prefer if you didn’t tease about that.”

 

The warrior nodded awkwardly, and the mage looked away, abashed.  Before the other could try and apologize for setting a perfectly reasonable boundary—if that’s what he meant to do, it seemed perfectly plausible, all said—Fenris answered his question.  “Regarding my thoughts, I have decided that I still wish you to remove the blood magic.  And I want you to promise never again to hide something that directly affects me."

 

"Sounds fair" Anders agreed “I promise I won’t hide anything from you that directly affects you.” He pulled back with a breath as if another thought had occurred to him, but didn’t elaborate. 

 

“What?”  Fenris asked, frowning.  What was the mage trying to hide now, right after promising not to?

“Oh, nothing for now.”  The mage dismissed, moving on almost eagerly “When do you want to do it?  And do you want anyone else present?” 

 

“No.  You had something else you wanted to say.  Say it” Fenris glared, and Anders pulled back, putting up his hands.

 

“Woah, it wasn’t anything bad, just not on topic.  I was just wondering if there was anything I hadn’t told you yet, and well, that went to things unsaid, and I was thinking that we hadn’t spoken about what you said before, when you said you had feelings for me, and I wanted to know if you’ve thought about it.”  Through the words, Anders had hunched down, fidgeting almost furiously with his fingers.  “But it doesn’t matter, we’re talking about your brands now, we can talk about that later.”

 

“Ah.”  Fenris said, pausing for a moment and then clearing his throat.  “We will talk on that later then.  For now, how much time do you need to prepare for doing this?”

 

Happily dropping the subject, Anders’ eyes drifted over the potions they’d gotten from Lirene, evidently contemplating.  “Other than a good night’s sleep I have everything I need, pain potions and lyrium.  Where do you want to do this?  I'd prefer here, as there's access to a lot more equipment if need be."

 

Fenris nodded.  Loath though he was to give up so much control, it would be better to do so here.  The mansion was his—or as close to it as he'd ever get—but he was still more comfortable in the clinic.

 

"Tomorrow." He demanded, glaring down at his brands.  Today, if it were possible, but a good night's sleep had been one of Anders' requirements.  Made sense too, the mage looked like he needed it.

 

"Tomorrow?" Anders repeated slowly.  “Hmm”

 

Raising an eyebrow, the warrior wondered if the mage would refuse in favor of a later date.  There were still patients from their fight earlier that day, but none that would need the mage’s attention such that he couldn’t devote the majority of it to Fenris.

 

Such worries turned out unfounded however, as the mage nodded.  “Alright, tomorrow it is then.” 

 

Fenris nodded, then jerked his head back up, struck suddenly by what the mage had said.  Examining him as he picked up the box of potions to put them away in the back wasn't much help considering that the healer was out of sight within moments, but it was long enough for him to discern one thing.  Limping slightly with slumped shoulders and huge bags under his eyes, Anders was very evidently, exhausted. 

 

Now that he actually took the time to think on it, the mage had looked tired even before they fought the slavers, blinking a little too long, putting stress on certain words to keep them from slurring together, rubbing at his head.  Not obviously, but enough that the added exertion from the fights and stress from dealing with Fenris’ demands should have him laid out on the floor, dead to the world.  That he wasn’t was likely a product of either the creature or his Grey Warden status, but that didn’t meant it was healthy.  

 

Healthy living was not something known by a slave, but both Anders and a lovely woman who’d helped him as he’d fled Tevinter had tried to impress upon the warrior the importance of it.  Food, water, sleep, sunlight, a multitude of things he’d received only enough of to keep him alive and capable of protecting Danarius, oftentimes given in the most degrading of ways.  Now, with the clinic earning money Fenris had enough food and water, he got enough sun, and though it seemed to escape him at the most inconvenient of times, he slept enough that he wasn’t falling over.  The mage on the other hand, did not get enough of any of those things, or at least hadn’t for most of them until Fenris opened up the donations box and forced the mage to eat with him each morning and evening.  Likely taking care of himself had fallen by the wayside again since Fenris left, though how had the warrior not noticed that?

 

It wasn’t his fault if self-care wasn’t high up on the mage’s list of priorities, but somehow he felt that it _was_ his problem.  After all, with the demands he was making of Anders, couldn’t he also correctly assume that he was a large part of the mage’s stress?  And shouldn’t he, as someone who claimed the mage’s friendship, have noticed before the mage mentioned it as a side note?  His pressing sense of affection for the mage had only grown since its first appearance, despite being faced with the most major—that Fenris knew of—of Anders’ flaws, yet he hadn’t seen how tired his companion was.  

 

Inexcusable though his inattention may have been, there was little time to waste dwelling over it.  Considering how long it had taken the warrior to recover the first time Anders had healed his brands, he knew he wouldn’t be able to remedy his lack of attention for a while at least.  Still, he would make sure Anders took care of himself tonight, and could think of how to expand that care later.  Probably while bed ridden, given how much Anders had coddled him before, and how much he’d hated sitting immobile.  Despite knowing that part of it was because Danarius had had no patience for healing, Fenris couldn’t stand being forced into non-action. 

 

There would also be time then for a discussion on how the two of them proceeded from here.  Anders had made it clear through action that he wanted more, and while Fenris wasn't one hundred percent sure on what _he_ wanted, he knew he wanted it with Anders, and only Anders.  He already had enough hang ups regarding physicality's with the mage, so adding a creature to it?  No way that would end well.  Justice held none of his affection, and such was not going to change.  Of course this was all assuming Anders wanted a physical relationship, and with Fenris besides, two things that he was almost certain of but not yet positive.  The mage’s manner had implied such, but the warrior had no background to base it off of.  Merely furtive observations and half worked out mental scenarios.

 

A soft swear could be heard from the room the mage had just disappeared into, and the warrior pushed himself to his feet with a sigh.  The thought of putting his armor back on was a momentary distraction quickly discarded, though he did carry it with him.  Mages were dangerous creatures who’d turn into abominations without a moment’s notice, but Fenris needed no such protection for dealing with this one.  The corner of his mouth quirked up in an amused smirk as Anders came into view, swearing lowly at the broken leather hair tie in his hands, having finally given up under all his nervous tugging. 

 

No armor, but for this mage, instructions, or at least a forewarning would’ve been helpful. 


	22. Anders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, I'm pretty sure I would've dropped this thing for an extended hiatus if not for you amazing people who keep on leaving comments, kudos, and kudos that it doesn't count because you can't click twice--you know who you are :) So thank you. I love you all so much, here's the chapter.

“ _Andraste’s big toenail!”_ Anders swore, wrenching his clutched hand down so he could see the break in his latest hair tie.  Small pinpricks of pain followed and he swore again at the hair that had come out with it.  Considering how short the tie already was, it didn’t look like he was going to be able to just knot it back together.  Unfortunate, but probably for the best. 

 

He’d worn the knot in the leather at the same place since he’d first had hair long enough to tie back, and so became used to the feel of it.  Whenever he wore a tie with more than one knot it felt itchy, and he tended to scratch as if he had fleas.  Considering Darktown it wasn’t all the implausible, but a little bit of creation magic had him and his clinic free of the pests.  Avoiding mending wasn’t worth acting as if he was infested with the buggers. 

 

 ** _”They are unjust.”_**  

 

Anders snorted in response, rummaging around in the small room for his mending kit.  He’d just used it a few days ago, where the heck had it gone?

 

“Damn right they’re unjust.”  The healer agreed, “I can’t believe that Templar tried using them as an excuse to get rid of Ser Pounce.”  The second part was tacked on with a lot less amusement, though at the disapproving feelings radiating off of Justice he rather fondly recalled the spirit’s disgust upon learning about fleas and other parasites. 

 

Anders and Nathan had been around to hear _all_ about it, and then the day after that the Warden had expressed interest, leading to yet another round of ranting on about the unjustness of the world beyond the fade.  Considering Anders had his magic to ward off the little buggers the rant hadn’t been too traumatic, but for Nathan and the Warden… well, they’d both asked for him to put warding spells on them, even after he’d delved them both and came up with no such parasites.  Still, it was a simple spell and had become a fond memory.

 

 ** _”Their actions towards Ser Pounce-A-Lot were unreasonable,”_** Justice agreed gravely, then ruined it by adding, ” ** _Despite the fact that you should not have been keeping him in the first place.”_**

****

“Are you serious?  Ser Pounce was _not_ a slave.  We’ve been over this, you’ve seen how cats are treated here in Darktown, you know the reason I can’t get another one is because the people are probably, well, _eating_ them.  Pounce was happy with me, and I was happier with him too.”  In lieu of glaring at the spirit, Anders scowled at the candle stubs he’d just unearthed from under a pile of discarded manifesto notes. 

 

One of the lines on a rejected page caught his eye and their age old argument over Pounce fell to the background as both spirit and healer stared all Anders’ handwriting, the latter rolling the words over in his head and wondering why the paper had been discarded. 

 

_While the general feelings revolving around entropy magic are almost as negative as those around blood magic, the two share few similarities._

 

“It’s natural,” He murmured, still staring at the paper as he blindly grabbed for a pencil he thought he’d seen earlier.  “Nature revolves around beginnings and endings, whereas blood magic has no basis in the world before the Veil was crossed.”  There it was, now… “Entropy magic mimics the natural flow of erosion, and only a small part- no, and only when used in battle does it resemble anything _close_ to blood magic.  This is mainly because of its use in conjunction with illusion magic to form mental attacks such as Drain-” Anders halted, pencil posed over the paper for a few more seconds before he dropped it.  “Oh that’s why I didn’t continue there.  I needed to do more research.  Find out the exact differences.  I’ve never been a master at entropy magic.”

 

 ** _”There are few who could help us.”_** Justice’s voice was a low growl, one that would’ve reverberated in small waves through any standing waters nearby had the spirit been speaking aloud and not merely to Anders. ** _“Those who could are locked away, their knowledge and potential advancements slandered and discouraged.”_**

 

“Yes, yes I know.”  Anders muttered distractedly, squinting his eyes shut as he tried to recall the term for necromantic practices which didn’t rely on the blood still in the dead bodies.  “I’m very lucky as a healer.  We at least were allowed to do in depth research without a Templar hovering over our shoulders, ready with a smite and a room in solitary in case it looked like we were getting any ideas.”  Flashes of his time studying anatomy flared up, and he winced, “Well, lucki _er_ I suppose. 

 

“Did I ever tell you about that time I showed interest in learning more about the digestive system, after that apprentice ‘accidentally walked into a doorknob’ and her small intestine was ruptured?  She died within a week and a half” He added in an almost-whisper, tapping his lips with the pads of his fingers.  “If they’d have let me do hands-on research beforehand, or for Pete’s sake right after, I probably could’ve saved her.” 

 

 ** _”You were not the only one who was denied the chance to help.”._**   Had anyone else said it, it would’ve been an offer of comfort, a reminder of the other healers who’d not touched a cadaver, and had no idea what the inside of a human or elf looked like beyond drawings.  With Justice it was just another reminder of the chains all mages lived with.  With Anders it was the same.  ” ** _On your own you have had the chance to further your knowledge of healing.  They do not own you.”_**

****

Anders snorted to avoid replying to Justice’s last comment, sobering in its inaccuracy.  “Right.  Yippee for apostates.  Furthering restoration sciences, one failed healing at a time.” 

 

There was a pause, and then Justice spoke again, sounding almost contrite.  “ ** _I did not mean to press on those who have died despite your actions to save them.  You are a just man, a good healer, and a mage who has taken up a cause in sore need of people to fight for it.  I would not have made you my host had I thought you unworthy.”_**

 

“Oh.  Uh, thanks.”  The healer cleared his throat, shoving the manifesto pages back where he’d found them and letting out a soft noise of relieved triumph as he spotted the mending kit.  “You’re not so bad either.  Quite just.  Very just.  And helpful.  Most of the time.” 

 

“ ** _I am Justice.”_**    The spirit replied in a tone clearly demanding to know where Anders’ sanity had gone, and the healer wondered why he’d decided to try and return the compliment when he knew Justice had no concept of conversational fair play. 

 

“Oh bugger off.”  Anders gave his head a quick shake as if to dislodge the spirit inside it.  “You know what I mean.  I’m glad you’re the spirit I work with, now please save your flattery for when I really need it, I don’t know how to deal with it elsewise.”  He gave an exasperated and overdramatic sigh, “You don’t understand my humor, you mock my exchanged compliments,”  

 

 ** _”I am neither flattering you nor mocking you Anders, I am not a demon.”_**  

 

“Well don’t you just know how to make a girl feel special” The healer snarked.  He _really_ should’ve just gone with a sarcastic reply the first time.  “And I know you’re not a demon.”

 

” ** _You, are not female”_** The confused hesitation in Justice’s voice had Anders letting out a loud bark of laughter, immediately clapping a hand over his mouth as if to belatedly stifle the noise. 

 

“Right you are.”  He agreed, taking pity on the spirit’s growing confusion.  “I am a man.” 

 

Spirits and demons had varying, vague concepts on gender, especially as it was rarely a thing of importance to them.  It had taken Justice a while to figure out exactly how much stock people put in pronouns.  Then, after finally figuring out how exactly to refer to people, there had been the even more muddling time of learning about those whose outward appearance didn’t match their gender.  The spirit was Justice and almost literally _couldn’t_ be bigoted about the whole thing, but there’d been a lot of questions for Anders regarding the concept.  Many a mental conversation, especially when such people had come to Anders about getting surgical healing done to make the outward and inward genders match. 

 

The spirit had been confused, and then furious when Justice had searched through the healer’s memories to figure out why so many looked wary or outright scared of Anders upon revelation.  Had the prejudice been closer to home—like Fenris’ experience with slavery—he thought Justice might’ve picked it up as the spirit’s own cause.  As it was, Justice’s focus was too far taken up by the mage’s problem to bring in another.  Not that such seemed to stop him with Fenris. 

 

“Now, are you going to let me mend this, or would you like to have a conversation on people’s rights and how messed up society is when it comes to things people are born with?  ‘Cause I can talk while we set things up for Fenris.” He’d had friends in the circle who’d been born like that.  Some people had been good about it—most notably fellow mages—some had not—most notably stuck up Templars.  Neither group had been all good or all bad, but either way, Anders had a lot to say on the subject. 

 

**_"It is unnecessary, I recall your words."_ **

****

"Wow, you _and_ Fenris.” Anders mock exclaimed.  “Better start pretending you don't remember what I say, or it just might go to my head." Still, he found himself smiling slightly at the reminder.

 

Considering that the spirit shared his head it made sense that Justice would remember everything he’d ever said, but that Fenris had taken such note of his ramblings, well.  That had really been a warming moment.  Especially when what the warrior had remembered had to do with magic.

 

**_"I will not allow you to fall to pride"_ **

 

Anders rolled his eyes. "Thanks Justice, but I wasn't being serious."

 

It made sense why the spirit was so touchy about vices demons stood for, especially given the potential for corruption.  Still, sometimes the stoic way of the fade-being was too amusing to let pass without comment. 

 

"There are still enough people who completely ignore me that I'm not going to flip over it.  No one listens if you have magic." The last part was grumbled, ending with an unflattering squawk as he poked his finger with the needle.  He stuck the pricked appendage in his mouth, continuing to talk around it.  "Except Fenris.  When he's not being broody and making me concerned for my life, he's really nice.  I mean, he certainly won't be singing praises of mages any time soon, but man.  He lived as a slave for who knows how long, yet is better than most Templar's I've met."

 

Justice didn't speak a response, instead sending a drawn out roll of mixed approval and disapproval at the healer, conveying his conflicted feelings revolving around the warrior as if Anders wasn't already completely aware.  The spirit liked Fenris' strength, he hated when it turned into vitriol against mage-kind.  His desire for freedom was applauded, his refusal to see the same for those imprisoned in Circles was despised.  Helping Anders had Justice demanding he stay, the healer's growing attraction to him had the warrior named distraction.

 

"He's staying.  As long as he wants to." Anders reiterated on this note, "And however distracting he is, please remember that I am a human, and a very social one at that.  And Fenris is, well.  He’s astute, he’s kind, he’s beautiful, just, incredible.  I know I’ve rambled to you about him before, but I really do like him.  So while I know you aren’t happy with how much time I give him, he helps me stay sane in a way you just, as a spirit, can’t.”  Ending what could’ve been a grand tangent rather lamely, he stared at the as of yet still unthreaded needle before actually getting to it, pulling out the thick string he couldn’t use for stitching people up.  For his hair tie, it would do.

 

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and Anders jerked his head up, freezing at the sight of Fenris leaning in the doorway, ears tinted pink and armor clasped in a white knuckled grip. 

 

Oh. 

 

“Fenris!” He attempted to exclaim in a normal, totally unsurprised voice.  Justice helpfully commented that he sounded like a dying genlock.  Anders cleared his throat and tried again.  “Fenris, I uh, didn’t see you there.  Have you, been there long?”

 

The warrior shrugged, “You were speaking to Justice?”  Eyes flickered up to catch Anders’ nod, then went down again.  “It’s dangerous.  You shouldn’t speak out loud, especially when you touch on so many different topics.”

 

He mirrored Fenris’ movement, awkwardly fiddling with the thread.  “Ya, I’m ah, usually good about that, sometimes it’s just, easier.  If I’m speaking aloud it feels more like I’m having an actual conversation, rather than just talking to myself.”

 

The warrior nodded, scuffing his foot on the floor a few times before speaking again.  “What you were saying, the last part, about me.”  It sounded like he had been going somewhere with that, but after a few moment Anders began to doubt.  Thankfully, he started again before it cold get awkward.  “I realize that I’ve been unfair to you.”

 

Unfair?  Yes, there’d been times when Fenris acted like a complete jerk, with little to no respect for Anders, but they’d never lasted long, and he didn’t know if he’d have called it the warrior being _unfair_.  Rude maybe, but fairness was not a thing present in the world.

 

Then he started to speak and Anders forgot all about the concept of decorum. 

 

“I have said I would explain my actions towards you, and yet again and again I have not.  You are a mage, someone my past has taught me to hate and mistrust on sight.  Yet at the same time I can’t recall someone being as kind to me as you have been.  You helped me without expecting anything back, healed me, taken care of me when I couldn’t.  You’ve…”  He trailed off, then gave himself a little shake and straightened, still not quite meeting the healer’s eyes.  “If it were only you, there would’ve been no hesitation in my agreement to the blood magic’s removal.  Danarius has found me too many times that I suspect are because of it.  It’s not you, but your spirit I don’t trust.  Remove the magic and you are still just a man, one whom I admire greatly, but the creature that possesses you?  I cannot feel the same way for it.”  Finally clear eyes met his own.  “I cannot respect it, or desire it, the same way I do you.  I worry about what may come to pass, but I enjoy the time we spend together.  I worry, yet I want.”

 

Anders nodded slowly, internally freaking out as his mind went in circles wondering how to respond.  In the Circle there had rarely been deep feelings involved, more often friendships with sex slipping in, and who knew if the warrior wanted that.  With Karl things had been different, but it’d also evolved in a completely dissimilar way.

 

“Do you, want more?  More than just being friends or whatnot?”  He asked after the silence had stretched past comfort.  “’Cause, just putting myself out there, I really do.  You’re, well, I’m sure you heard what I was telling Justice.  That’s uh, basically what I think about you.  I could go on for longer though, if you’d like?  Considering I’ve already embarrassed myself rambling about you to my spirit, I don’t see why I couldn’t to your face as well.  Not that it’ll make much difference beyond some additional stuttering and I’m just warning you, I may look like a tomato by the end of it.”

 

Fenris shook his head furiously, and the healer would’ve been offended had he not been relieved.  There’d been no lies there, he could wax poetry about the warrior in spades, but that would probably be uncomfortable for them both. 

 

He’d no idea when he’d gotten so sappy, but figured with the lack of any real positive contact in the past months since arriving in Kirkwall, it made sense that he’d latch onto whatever he could get.  Especially when whatever he could get was wrapped up in a gorgeous elvhan package, complete with brooding eyes, a voice one could drown in, a- Nope, he was getting way off topic here.  Maybe Fenris would reply quickly and he could shove these thoughts way back down where they’d come from.  Seriously, what was he, some randy Fereldan mabari?  One mention of the warrior’s desires was all it took for him to be melting into a pile of goo on the floor. 

 

“I don’t, know what more means.”  And all exasperation with himself melted away at the tentative note in the warrior’s voice, giving way to concern and the desire to do right by Fenris.

 

Considering Fenris had been a slave for who knew how long, and they’d met while the other was on the run, it wasn’t surprising that the warrior didn’t have any vocal ideas on ‘more’.  Between having no freedoms and running from his former master, there very likely hadn’t been time for forming any real romantic relationships. 

 

“That doesn’t mean I’d be averse to finding out” Fenris continued quickly, and Anders found himself once again surprised by the courage of the other.  “I enjoy your company, and though there are still things I’m not, quite certain on, I believe that you are the best person to figure them out with.”

 

And wasn’t that just the loveliest kick to the heart.  Fenris thought Anders was someone he’d like to explore things with.  Even though, wait-

 

“Not that I don’t appreciate this,”  He began, though it would take about fifty more words to say just how much he did appreciate it “Fenris, ‘cause I really do, it is seriously _fantastic_ to hear you say that, but you’re good with this happening now?  Before we remove the blood magic?”

 

“Take it as caution from my past, but now would be the best time to have this happen.”  It was obvious Fenris wanted to add something like ‘whatever _this_ is’, but he refrained, and Anders understood. 

 

If Fenris talked about this now, before the healer had any potential time to mess around in his brands, the warrior could be sure that the words were his own.  Anders was a little offended, but with the mention it was easier to separate Fenris’ post-traumatic past mentality from an unfounded hatred of all mages. 

 

“That makes sense.”  Anders said, abandoning the mending of his hair tie in favor of staring at the counter.

 

For a few more moments they just stood in silence, and then he took a deep breath, making a valiant if futile attempt to calm his nerves.  Still, if anything was going to happen, it appeared that it was going to be up to him to do it.  Straightening, he started to close the small distance between the two of them, adding a slight roll to his hips that was a remembered thing, automatic as a way to up the appeal he knew time and Justice had taken away from. 

 

Delicately placing his hand on the side of the warrior’s neck, he allowed himself to give into the desire to brush his fingers through the tips of Fenris’ white hair.  Sweat from the previous fight had made it a little greasy, but in the moment, Anders couldn’t care less.  It was faultless, exactly the way it should be for a warrior. 

 

“Do you trust me?” He asked, running his thumb over a sharp cheekbone and enjoying the abrupt inhalation the movement earned him. 

 

“Yes”

 

The word was barely a whisper, but it could’ve been shouted for all that it affected Anders.  He squeezed his eyes shut as if that could help reign in the desire that rushed though him.  As if that would change the fact that there was warm skin under his hand, small puffs of exhaled breath barely reaching his face.  Still, he was determined to be gentle with this former slave who treated all kind or even indifferent touches like gifts or treasures.  Cautious, but Fenris wasn’t broken. 

 

The warrior didn’t move even to breath as Anders leaned forward, and he gently pressed their lips together.

 

It was everything and nothing like he’d imagined. 

 

Fenris’ lips were soft against his own, unpracticed in the way he moved against him with a muted moan.  A hand grabbed Anders’ side and the healer pushed closer, nearly whimpering at the feeling of Fenris’ solid frame against his own.  The warrior was unpracticed and it showed, but it was thrilling at the same time.  That _Anders_ was the one allowed to do this to him.  That _Anders_ was the one he’d become practiced with. 

 

It was almost torture to pull away so soon, even before opening his mouth to request more, but Anders forced himself to regardless, staying close to the warrior for a few moments as he panted softly, opening his eyes to stare into Fenris’ golden-green gaze, a brilliant smile on his face he couldn’t even hope to suppress.  Not that he’d want to. 

 

“How was that?”  He asked, still grinning like a fool, ecstatic about how _right_ it had felt. 

 

The warrior looked flabbergasted, staring at Anders as if he’d suddenly turned into a demon and offered him everything he could ever want, except, without the whole demon thing.  Anders sure as hell wasn’t flawless with metaphors, but Fenris’ reaction was beautiful, perfect, and all that he could’ve hoped for. 

 

Fenris let out a small sound like a mix between a cough and a giggle— _a giggle!--_ turning away from the healer, joy overflowing through the corners of his lips. 

 

“That was, good.  Very good” He said, once again shuffling his feet in uncertainty. 

 

Anders couldn’t do much more than smile.  He’d kissed Fenris, and Fenris hadn’t torn out his heart, literally or figuratively. 

 

“Well,” He began when the silence was once again beginning to stretch too long and Anders had finally gotten his breath and coherency back, “Would you like to start with that then?  For more?”  A flash of apprehension passed over Fenris’ face this time at the mention of ‘more’, and Anders hurried to add, “I don’t want to do anything that you’re uncomfortably with, but I for one really enjoyed that”

 

Fenris nodded, his hand creeping up to tangle in the healer’s hair, fingertips running along his scalp in a way that made him hum, closing his eyes and swaying forwards again, this time without the expectation of meeting, and just reviling in the sensation of being close. 

 

“I- Hmm.  I would be amenable to that.”  The warrior agreed, and Anders just had to open his eyes to look at the warrior again, take in his awestruck expression, and the way he tried to hide it behind impassiveness. 

 

“I’m glad.” He admitted, going back to running his palm over the side of the warriors neck, wishing they were already far enough along that he’d feel comfortable doing more.  Wishing the moment would last far longer so he could capture it and every other moment like it as he learned the warrior, what made him tick, what his past was, and then became a part of his future. 

 

“We should probably get ready for removing this magic.”  Fenris suggested, closing the small bit of distance between them to press their lips together again, a little more aggressive this time before he backed off.  “I don’t suppose it’s something you can do without notice.” 

 

Shaking his head, Anders followed him, letting his tongue dart out to taste the warrior’s lips before the other pulled back, hesitance playing across his face.  He had his suspicions on what had happened to the warrior during his time as a slave before, and the faltering in his responses only served to further confirm them.  Contrarily, the momentary ferocity in his unspoken requests spoke volumes on how he’d be when said issues were worked through and put to rest.  Once again Anders couldn’t wait, once again he didn’t want to miss a moment of it.  This wasn’t something he could put his magic to and have disappear, but he could be by the warrior’s side while he turned them over, decided what he had to keep, and what he was ready to discard for good

 

“We’ll work through things together though, right?”  Anders asked, then belatedly realized he’d almost completely ignored the warrior’s last question.  “I mean, yes, there’s stuff I need to get ready, but first, please- I, want to go through this with you.  Be by your side as you figure out what ‘more’ is, and how far you want to take that.  We haven’t known each other for too long, but I don’t want to take this too quickly, too slow.  In the Circle we weren’t allowed to love, and with Karl it was something forbidden, something I’ll never know where it could’ve gone.  I don’t want that with you.  I want this to last, but I want it to begin too.”

 

The silence that followed his declaration—ill-advised though it may have been—was one Anders would not remember fondly.  He couldn’t break it to rush Fenris, but oh, how he wished in that moment he wasn’t so aware of the illnesses of the mind, and how big a part time played in mending them.  Fenris stood still, hand cradling the back of the healer’s skull, and he waited. 

 

Perhaps he’d kept a few cards off the table, the ones that spoke of his abandonment issues, his problems with getting too attached to sympathetic people too quickly, but even so the ones he’d put down weren’t insignificant.  It would be a blow to lose Fenris now, to indifference or disgust, but Justice was quiet in the back of his mind, and the warrior was staring through him, sorting through words and memories until he could find the right ones to respond with. 

 

“I wish that also.”  The warrior finally responded, his voice a low murmur.  Once again their gazes met, and this time there was no hesitation in the other's.  “I wish that very much.”


	23. Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crow there were so many comments last chapter, and I am so grateful for them. Seriously, getting your feedback was the highlight(s) of my week. I'm not going to reply tonight because I'm pretty sure I'd end up rambling or falling asleep in the middle of saying something, but I'll answer by the end of the day tomorrow, 'cause I seriously, really appreciate it. You people are all so lovely, even when I'm not happy with the story. So, so lovely. 
> 
> Thanks!

As it ever did outside the fade, time passed, and things changed.

 

Many things changed.  Or perhaps they were still the same, and the difference was that now Justice viewed them from the other side of the veil.  That would be the easier answer for certain, the one that could be taken for granted, then all could move on.  Justice had, after all, seen the effects of change in the beings outside the fade.  Though Justice and Anders’ experience is a new one, there had been spirit healers before him, mages who’d dreamt themselves into the fade and brought its inhabitants out.  Even ones who’d coaxed Justice into helping, into righting small wrongs in an impartial world.  Not many, as spirit healers tended to court those of Compassion, Peace, and Mercy more than Justice, but a few.

 

There had been a woman once, one full of fire and determination, resolute in her link along the chain that formed an escape for slaves, fleeing from the City of Chains in which Justice now resides.  Already she had been ages previous, but even before that there had been a set of twins, connected by birth and ne’er separated.  Together even as they roamed the fade, conversing with the spirit on the upholding of the ideal Justice stood for.  Preceding that, a man who raged with fire against a town that had turned him and his children out, weak, wounded, and alone.  Each Justice had only known fleetingly, for portions of time that moved differently across the Veil than it did within.  A decade, a score, a century.  What was time to a being whose existence was based not on a body that would eventually degenerate, but on an idea that guided all for the better?

 

Justice had lived a very long time, but there’d never been anyone like Anders before.  Never been anyone like the echoes of Kristoff.   

 

Then again, considering that Justice had only ever partially crossed the veil to aid in restoring what Thedan healers could not, there was really no comparison to the two of them.  Between the two, sure.  Alone in a body meant for something that had already passed on, certain things became pressing, jabbing at Justice in a way that nothing else had.  The need for justice for Kristoff and his wife took precedence of course, but there were times in which the body had desires that the spirit inside it did not.  The image of light dancing across the lake captured the eyes for moments in which they’d be better used scanning for danger.  The smell of unneeded food had feet involuntarily following the scent, even though the dead required no sustenance.  A glimpse of Aura and the body would demand closeness, to be beside the other it knew so well, to share the same space.  Justice was still upheld, but the feeling of being mortal cropped up within it, making its desires known and reflecting itself in many conversations with Anders and Nathanial, the Warden and Velanna. 

 

It had been Velanna who’d first brought up what became Justice’ fear of staying in Kristoff’s blighted body for so long it ceased to exist, Nathanial who’d given the idea of possessing a living body, and Anders’ who’d spoken of a cause for which to stay for.  Anders who’d agreed to the possession, Anders who wanted better for his mage brethren, but alone could do nothing.  Those who knew of the occupancy often accused Justice of being a demon, but it was not mortality or power Justice pursued.  Simply the ideal Justice existed to bring.  Mortality was a feeling demons searched for, and Justice was no demon. 

 

The experiences had in Thedas were intriguing and something Justice wouldn’t erase for a moment, but the line between home and Thedas was clear, if a little blurry at times.  Anders helped by pointing out the line, yet it seemed as though he hindered as well. 

 

The discord was worrisome, and sometimes, though Justice preferred not to focus on it, there was suspicion that all wasn’t right, scratching at thoughts and in places it shouldn’t be.  How did one know whether or not they were being corrupted?  Having only ever felt the anger of injustice in the Fade, and only dimly felt Thedan anger from those to whom help had been given, there was no way to know what emotions were had in Kristoff’s body.  To label them, yes, such was easy, but to know if they were pure or not?  That was hard, and something Justice found nigh impossible to do.  How could a pure being when forced into an impure world know the difference between valid fury and the kind of rage that had turned many spirits into demons for less?  Kristoff’s body was still tainted, did not the container stain what it held?

 

So it was with Anders too, yet again things were different.  The words of the mage regarding the Circle and the Templars who punished him there filled Justice with purpose, and the desire to see justice reign.  There was the knowledge of blood magic and those who’d fallen to demons, but it fell behind the images, the memories in Anders’ mind. 

 

Closed eyes that can’t block out the tears of mages who return late at night, pulled aside in the hallways for a ‘conversation’ with a Templar.  Romances and sexual dalliances hushed and hidden as the jailers walk by, eyes sharp and ready to catch any mage who even thinks of courting such a weak point for demons to prey on.  Months where the only company was a scrawny cat named Mr. Wiggems and those who came to the cell to graciously bestow food, only intermittently requiring favors performed to actually receive it.  Intermittent in the beginning, but time passes quickly outside the veil, and for what was later informed as a year, Anders had little concept of it.  Little knowledge of anything but those who controlled his every moment, all because he wished for freedom.

 

Not all the memories Justice had viewed were so horrific, but the facts remained that it was a cage, set up to segregate an entire people whose only crime was being born with magic.  Each moment of laughter, every emotional conversation, all the times that brought happiness to Anders life.  They all paled under the injustices performed by the people who took authority over mages.  Who harmed them as if it were their right.

 

Over time in Kristoff’s tainted body, Justice’s disgust for the Templars had built up, and when transferred to Anders' almost as equally tainted body—if indeed a little more alive—it had overflowed.  Blight-touched fury turned to consuming rage, and the question cropped up as to whether there was even a difference anymore.  The line was unclear, and people died.

 

For the injustices done upon Anders.  People died for a reason, to clear the slate that they’d stained.

 

The Templars had tried to take Anders, the Grey Wardens had betrayed them by doing so, and they died for their crimes.  Anders regretted it, but justice had been done.  And it was justice that had been done, because as a spirit Justice was incapable of anything else.  It was not a justice as others would see it however, already knowing what they thought of mages, and so Justice had encouraged Anders in his flight.  They left for Kirkwall and discovered the mistreatment of the people there too.  Nobles looked down upon and spat at refugees and the less well-off, not even attempting to differentiate between those who’d fallen to misfortune and those who’d embraced it gleefully.  So much was wrong within the city and even as they worked for the Cause, together Justice and Anders attempted to fix it. 

 

Then Fenris showed up.  An elf who sang like the ring the Warden had given Justice, lost forever in Vigil’s Keep.  An warrior who sang of home, even if his melody only spoke of the parts of home in which demons roamed, and blood magic reigned.  It wasn’t his fault, it was the filthy touch of the magic that had been forced into him, into the brands trailing across his body.

 

Justice and Anders had been of one mind in helping Fenris, and while their continued support was still needed, there were times when that blight-tipped rage slunk in, wisps of it curling almost unnoticed.  How could this Fenris, who sang like home and lived the life of a slave hate mages so much when they were prisoners, slaves to the whims of the Templars and the chantry?   Things did not line up, and there was an edge that made Justice restless as Anders spent less time on his manifesto and more time taking care of the singing being who’d joined them.  Too many people already ignored the plight of the mages, if Anders, who’d came to Kirkwall to actually _do_ something about it gave up…

 

Fenris was a distraction, that much was obvious.  Yet he could also potentially be useful. 

 

Justice was not a momentary thing.  In some cases its will only needed a moment, but justice was something that lasted, that was done right, and so stayed done.  Fenris had firsthand knowledge of what could go wrong with freedom, something hardly present in the expanse that was Anders’ life.  If Fenris would just speak with Justice, they could work together to prevent unjust deeds from following their just ones.  But it wasn’t a priority, and again and again Justice allowed the singing being his silence.  There were matters not necessarily more important, but certainly more pressing. 

 

Because as it ever did outside the fade, time passed.

 

 

A spark of light reflected and their hand stretched out automatically, snatching the vial from the air just before it could hit the ground, Anders letting out a small noise of triumph at the close call. 

 

“And here I was thinking those were meant for me.”

 

They turned, straightening to look at the warrior perched on their bed, covered only by a blanket and very evidently uncomfortable with it, though he attempted to act normal. 

 

“Oh hush, of course they’re for you” Anders replied with a laugh, then sobered, frowning seriously “But don’t think I’m playing favorites here, the floor just doesn’t appreciate my potion making skills as much as you do.”

 

The smile Fenris mustered up was an obvious lie, and Justice frowned as Anders smiled back at him.  Comfort, that must be it.  Anders had explained how cats often purred to comfort themselves, it would be a point of continuity with the Thedan world if Fenris and other beings did too. 

 

“Given, everything” Fenris hesitated, the smile wavering and then falling altogether, “I’ll be appreciating them very much.” For a moment it looked like he’d attempt another smile, but he ducked instead, rubbing his bare arm nervously. 

 

Justice could understand the nerves, and his and Anders’ thoughts flowed in tandem as they politely averted their gaze from the unclothed warrior.  What they were intending on doing wasn’t something simple, and would require a lot of physical contact that Fenris had already proven he was uncomfortable with, knowledge of similar violations rising unspoken in Anders’ mind and sparking protective anger in Justice.  Fenris was a distraction, but they would allow no harm to come to him, he was far too important.  Had already dealt with far too much maltreatment.

 

Sitting on their bed, covered only with their moth-eaten blanket, Fenris looked small and vulnerable.  The image was not discouraged by the way he hunched down as if to try and hide himself from sight, or his ears pressed back in yet another similarity to a scared kitten.  They frowned and reached out a hand in comfort, but Anders stilled it before Fenris could notice.  He had shown remarkable acceptance to Anders' advances so far, but here, with past horrors fresh in his mind it was unlikely he’d appreciate any more touch than was absolutely necessary. 

 

They’d done all they could to make things easier on him, hopefully it would be enough. 

 

Fenris could use the blanket to completely cover himself if he wanted, as long as the section of lyrium lines they were working on was still visible.  If he needed to take a break at any point he would only have to say so and they’d pause with a few moments leeway in case they were at a delicate part.  As for the pain, they’d taken out their entire stock of pain relievers and arranged them so that they could make sure Fenris didn’t take too many in a given portion of time.  There was always the chance Fenris would end up something close to drunk by the end of it, considering the amount of potions, but Anders had been careful, and hadn’t taken out enough that an overdose was possible.  Intoxication was an injustice, but this would be understandable, if it did come to pass.

 

It seemed minimal when all was said and done, but Fenris seemed to appreciate it as Anders went over things one last time.  He finished speaking, and they waited patiently, watching Fenris as he sat, eyes closed and tension holding his body perfectly still under the blanket, save the slow movement of his chest, rising and falling.

 

Patience was not something Justice had needed to know before meeting Anders, before being unceremoniously thrust into Kristoff’s body.  It was a curious feeling to have it stretch.  One that's intrigue was sure to grow stale very quickly, but for now Justice let it be, as they watched Fenris, and they waited.

 

“Alright.” 

 

It was said with a note of finality that sparked a pulse of offense in Anders, and the stray though that the warrior didn’t have to sound so skeptical of his ability to pull this off.  Immediately on its heels there was regret and self-admonishment, as Anders reminded himself of the many reasons Fenris had to not want anyone working on his brands.  Then there was a hand slipping into theirs, and the thoughts fled in the face of a warm contented feeling. 

 

At first the strange sensation was intriguing, then Anders carefully leaned forward to place a feather light kiss on Fenris’ temple and it became too much.  Cringing away from the desire that rushed through Anders—innocent though it was—Justice fled as far back as possible, focusing on other aspects to distract.  The disapproval that ran through their body belonged to Justice, and though Anders had to have taken note, he ignored in favor of gathering up the first two pain potions to give to Fenris.  One handed, of course.  Their right hand was still clutched tight in Fenris’, thumb rubbing soothingly over the lyrium lines situated there. 

 

“Here” Anders murmured, passing the vials over and a spark of fondness running through them at how readily Fenris downed them, barely grimacing at the taste. 

 

They waited a few moments for the effects to kick in, watching as a small amount of tension unwittingly left Fenris’ frame.  One of the potions had been extremely fast acting.  Didn’t last long, but the second slower one would kick in then.  The rest of the vials were organized according to their duration and strength, easy to grab without needing to search through them.

 

“Anders?”  He asked, squeezing his eyes shut and then open again, iris’ thin rings around his enlarged pupils.  They gripped his hand tighter in acknowledgment, and Fenris turned to stare at them.

 

_’Puppy dog eyes’_

Confusion rippled through Justice, both at Anders’ stray thought and their sudden desire to hug the defenceless warrior.

 

**_’Fenris is more a cat than a dog.'_ **

 

Evidently that was amusing, as Anders chuckled inwardly, still externally staring back at Fenris in a remarkable display of patience, made even more so in that Justice couldn’t detect any _im_ patience. 

 

’ _When he’s more comfortable with you, I’m telling him you said that.’_

 

Again Justice was lost.  There was nothing wrong about that thought, nor would there be any reason to hide it.  Why would Anders make special note? 

 

Usually Anders answered Justice without either of them speaking, by his continuing emotions or a memory that cropped up subconsciously, but now the entirety of his attention was focused on Fenris, warmth and protectiveness practically overflowing within him, the latter taking some of its strength from Justice’s desire to stop all harm from even nearing Fenris. 

 

“I trust you.”  Fenris finally continued, giving the appearance of wanting to say more, but after a few more moments of mouthing uncertainties, he simply shook his head, resuming looking up at them. 

 

Anders smiled broadly and reached out, stopping just shy of stroking the side of Fenris’ head and letting his hand fall.  “Thanks.” He said, an edge of tightness ringing the words.  “I won’t give you a reason to not.”

 

An answering smile ghosted across Fenris’ face and the singing warrior nodded, turning away, his movements exaggerated by the potion he’d taken.  Fear flashed across his face, and he glanced back at them again, did a double take, and then resumed his stare, tranquility falling across his face like acceptance. 

 

Anders took a deep breath, worry creeping in again at the calm resignation Fenris was displaying, and Justice prodded at him.  **_’Nothing will go wrong.  We have done this before, and Fenris trusts us to do it again.  Peace Anders.  Justice will be done.’_**

****

_‘Thanks.’_ Still, it was a moment before he moved again, and Justice, though feeling the weight of what they were about to do, didn’t understand the hesitation.

 

Fenris watched them the whole time, as they flipped the hand they were holding over, and began. 

 

 

As it ever did outside the fade, time passed.  The light on the lantern remained unlit, and those who hopefully approached the clinic turned away, eyes shuttering as they resolved to come back the next day.  Unlike the first time they’d worked on Fenris’ brands, or the many times mages had fiddled with them in the past, there were no screams, no agonized gasps, or shouts of fear.  Nothing that spoke of what was happening inside the clinic to those outside of it.

 

Inside, silence reigned much the same.  Anders and Justice methodically worked across Fenris’ body, choosing sections as large as they could work with to cordon off, killing the blood magic inside, then dragging along small packages of healing magic.  To their right sat the piles of pain potions which they tilted into Fenris’ mouth at regular intervals and to their left were bottles of lyrium, more and more quickly emptying.  The taste of it was acid against the back of their mouth, and had Justice not absorbed a great amount of its effects, Anders would’ve died shortly into the healing.

 

Doped up on pain killers, Fenris’ only reactions were the occasional grimace or spasms of muscle.  Thrice he requested a halt.  Once for trailing sparks of pain across his spine, again upon the soles of his feet, and lastly for the lines that crept into territory that had only ever been touched by others with the intention to violate and humiliate.  They filled the pauses with food and water, letting Fenris rest as his brain and body reconciled the lack of pain and the press of the pain potions as they steadily worked through them.  Each time they began again Anders talked him through it, and each time Justice wondered, anger burning like embers at the theories and realizations Anders couldn’t help but have.  Fenris had been grossly mistreated, and Justice felt anger at mages as a whole as had not happened even when facing malificar or seeing those who’d succumbed in Anders’ past.  The host was reminded of the Templars who’d been kind despite their imprisonment, and a mix of anger and uncertainty swirled together until Justice pushed it all away, focusing on the _here,_ and the _now_.

 

If Fenris, in his pained and inebriated state noticed any blue flickering around their face, he said nothing, and they continued. 

 

 

As it ever did outside the fade, time passed.

 

Even working on as large sections of the brands as they could, it was still well into the early hours of the morning before they were even close to being finished.  Fenris had declined the offer of sleep, and Heaven knew Anders had never shied away from losing it for the sake of patients.  Another section, another blockade, another scream as the blood magic died, and another tug on the stagnant healing, pulling it into the newly liberated segment of lyrium.  Except this time there wasn’t yet another section, instead the stagnant healing coming in contact with another bundle they’d left at the beginning of the circuit.  Pulling that out, they looked over Fenris as he pulled the blanket to cover himself.  Even though the blanket the blood magic had been easy to sense, but now they found none.  Anders blinked, stopped, then blinked again, weary and questioning Justice as to whether he’d spontaneously became unable to see more blood magic, or whether—and he asked this as if it were the most unlikely of things he’d ever heard—they were finished.  Taking sole control of their eyes, Justice looked, and then nodded.  Nothing remained. 

 

"Fenris?" Anders questioned tentatively, amazement clear in his sleep-slurred voice "We're ah, we're done."

 

The song constantly ringing out from Fenris crested as he opened his eyes, the bright orbs having fallen shut long before, drifting on the flows of the potions effects and the slowly dying blood magic.  Anders spoke some more, offering words of comfort and questions of feelings, but Justice heard none of it, focused completely on the song. 

 

Before, it was alluring.  Beautiful yes, but also with a tone that reminded Justice of desire demons, with their pull and uncaring demands.  The blood magic was clear and though Justice had still enjoyed listening, it was impossible to relax into.  Now though, _now_ , it was magnificent. The crests and melody still played out as strong as ever, but without the discord that was the filthy magic, there was a harmony that went with it, low resonances and high accents which danced and played in a way that spoke of _home_ , that spoke of Fenris, and Justice existed in stillness for precious moments, listening. 

 

The ring had been a prized possession, and its loss was almost more regrettable than leaving the Grey Wardens, for how could an immortal being get attached to anything that wouldn’t last?  This being, curled up on Anders’ bed, his lithe body hidden under blankets and a small, disarming smile stretching across his face because the pain and relief had shattered his walls, this being would not last.  He would die along with Anders, and would take his song with him. 

 

“Everything, worked?”  Fenris’ voice broke the charm of the song, lifting an arm drowsily, staring at the lines covering it.  The song was beautiful, but it was the mark of a great injustice, one that Justice shouldn’t even be thinking of as acceptable.  The brands were stunning, but vile too.

 

They were red around the edges, but the skin was smooth, something Fenris evidently greatly appreciated, considering how he ran his fingers over them once, then again, and again, seemingly memorized by the lack of, whatever he had felt before.  Justice hadn’t asked, but was now rather curious, wondering how different it felt for Fenris, when the sound had changed so much.   Prodding Anders with the question resulted in being brushed off with a demand for patience.

 

“Everything worked, you did really well.”  Anders confirmed, crouching down so that they were level with Fenris.  “How do you feel?”

 

Blinking, Fenris frowned, tilting his head to the side to stare at Anders.  After a pause he answered.  “Strange.  I, feel strange.  Like there’s something fluffy in my mouth, and there’s,” He waved his hand in a large circle, making a strange motion Justice didn’t understand.  “In the air, around my vision.” 

 

Fenris looked satisfied that he’d gotten his point across, and Anders felt amused, so it couldn’t be too bad, no matter how little sense he made.  Wait and listen, time would explain.

 

“In the air huh?”  Anders chuckled, reaching out and lightly touching his fingers to Fenris’ forehead.  Eyes flying wide open, he stared at them, then leaned forward, shoving his head into their palm.  “Oh Fenris, you’re drunk.”

 

In direct dichotomy of his last action Fenris jerked back, staring at them, aghast. 

 

“I’m not drunk!  I didn’t drink anythi-” He cut himself off, offense turning to surprise.  Leaning forward again, Fenris stage-whispered with great worry, “I drank those pain potions you gave me.  Did they, have, alcohol in them?”

 

“No.” Anders denied, using the sudden closeness to check Fenris’ pupils.  “I did however use a fungus in them which has been known to cause feelings of well, something like mayhem, in small doeses like getting drunk, but I didn’t expect…  Ah” Anders had been going through the different alchemic uses of the ingredients in his mind, but he stopped suddenly, and Justice watched as flashing memories of fighting shuttered through their head.  “It’s got to do with the pain.  I’m guessing the Blisterwort had a heightened effect on you, then that combined with the adrenaline rush from your body trying to get you to fight off the blood magic,” They shrugged.  “Yup, you’re a little drunk right now.”

 

“Ah.”  Fenris broke his previous stillness to nod as if it made perfect sense.  “Yes.”

 

“Yes.” Anders repeated, still grinning wide enough Justice could feel their muscles stretching.  “So, you want to go to sleep?  I don’t know about you, but even with Justice helping I’m drained, completely exhausted.  Maybe a little overtired.  That was a heck of a lot of work.” 

 

“Yes.”  Fenris agreed, licking his lips.  “Sleep would be, good.”  He licked them again, then frowned, staring into his lap. 

 

Anders jerked at the visual reminder and they scrambled to grab the skin of water they’d put beside the bed for him.  Fenris gave a short nod of thanks, eagerly taking the waterskin and draining it.  He gave a long satisfied sigh after it was finished, then put it to the side, focusing once again on Anders and Justice.  They waited in case he was going to say anything, but instead Fenris just nodded once, sharply, then scooted himself down on the bed, settling down and letting his eyes fall to half-mast. 

 

Chuckling, Anders went to stand, opening their mouth to comment on the sleepy warrior.  A hand shot out, stopping him in his tracks even as Fenris’ eyes finally closed.  “Stay.” He demanded, pulling them back down. 

 

’ ** _The clinic needs opening.  There is much we can still do to help without magic.  We are needed Anders.’_** Justice reminded him, pressing forth images of lines of people waiting outside for healing. 

 

The warmth dimmed, and Anders inwardly scowled.  ’ _Fenris wants me to stay.’_ A bloom of wonder unfurled with those words, and the harsh reply turned to softness as Anders gazed down at the sleepy warrior. _’He trusted us to do this, and now he wants us to stay.  I can’t just leave him now.’_

 

‘ ** _And when what he wants gets in the way of the Cause?  What will you do then?  Sacrifice the mages for the will of the singing elf?’_** Genuinely worried about the answer, Justice wasn’t relieved at the uncertainty that poured forth.

 

‘ _I’ll, hmm.  No, I won’t, but that’s different.  I want what’s best for the mages, and I want what’s best for Fenris.  If it really comes down to it I’ll figure something out.’_ A smirk tugged their lips, and images of Anders various escapes flickered by.  ’ _I always do._ ’

 

Anders was dead set on this course of action, and though Justice disapproved, it would be unjust not to compromise with the host.  **_’Check, and then we can stay with him’_**

 

Had it been any other patient Justice wouldn’t have agreed to the concession, but Fenris was different, and for now, at least, the appeal of making him happy was obvious.  Anders’ indecision regarding the mages was something to deal with at another time.  It would definitely have to be dealt with, but not now.  Though Justice felt no weariness, Anders’ exhaustion was evident. 

 

“I’ve just got to see if there’s anyone waiting at the door, and then I’ll be back, I promise.”  Anders said aloud, finally giving in to the desire to run their free hand lightly over Fenris’ hair. 

 

At the contact his eyes cracked open, but only long enough for him to contemplate, then agree, loosening his hold so they could slip away. 

 

To Anders’ relief there was no one waiting at the door, and they quickly ran through the evening routine they’d missed the night before, scurrying around and ignoring how Anders knocked into things in his weary state. 

 

Happiness sparked as they re-entered their room and looked upon the singing warrior.  Fenris hadn’t moved in their absence, curled tightly into himself with one arm stretched out, reaching for something, or someone.  Reaching for Anders.  The redness at the edges of the visible lines had faded somewhat with time to recover after the healing, and overall they looked a lot smoother, cleaner than they had been before, though neither Justice nor Anders could recall ever thinking them seeming uneven. 

 

Grabbing another blanket to lay over the warrior, they stripped out of their clothing, throwing on a simple tunic and pants, debating whether or not to wake Fenris up in order to do the same.  He needed the sleep, obviously, but he’d also probably be more comfortable clothed when he woke.  Finding out how exposed he had needed to be for them to get rid of all the blood magic had nearly had him calling the whole thing off again, though he hadn’t verbally argued, understanding the necessity. 

 

Deciding for it, Anders grabbed a pair of trousers and a shirt, gently speaking at Fenris to get him up and into them.  The protesting whine nearly had Anders cooing at Fenris’ adorableness, and while Justice agreed in the moment, memories of the warrior’s vicious fighting style overlaid the current picture before they could be too far misled.  Yet again, Anders ignored the warning, helping the addled warrior into clothing.  They politely turned away as they put the trousers on him, and a fresh way of anger rushed through Justice at the memory of exactly where the brands had gone, and how they must’ve been put there.  Anders let out a hushing noise, but it wasn’t enough to conceal his own disgust at what’d happened. 

 

With more grumbling, they managed to get the clothing on, laying down on the floor beside Fenris. 

 

“You are ridiculously cute.” Anders whispered into the silence that was left behind, and Fenris scowled, still not opening his eyes. 

 

“Quiet mage.”  He mumbled, throwing a hand aimlessly towards them and almost smacking them in the face. 

 

Anders laughed, his own fatigue showing in the way it was edged with an almost hysterical giggle.   There was no verbal reply given, just him stretching out to take the warrior’s hand in theirs before closing their eyes.  Sleep claimed him soon after, and Justice remained as ever aware, drawn between joining Anders in what little of the fade was visually assessable to them and staying awake to watch over the two Thedan beings. 

 

Care for people so temporary was an odd thing, but it was an unavoidable danger for spirits who became too close to those in Thedas.  Care could lead to grief, or it could lead to damnation.  Grief at the deaths of those who were always bound to die, or damnation in the pursuit to save or avenge them.  Then again, Despair too had once been Compassion.

 

 

Hours later and Justice still remained awake, wondering which way the care they felt for these two would lead.

 

 

Somewhere deeper, tinged with a taint like blight, Justice wondered how an ideal was supposed to exist in a world where the treatment that these two had faced was something normal, something accepted.  They wondered how long they could exist. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aanndd I almost forgot to add. Justice thinks of him and Anders as 'them, theirs, they'', which can get confusing because though I've tried to avoid using any pronouns, the ones for Justice are also 'them, theirs, they'. The actions that Anders does solely, whether because Justice doesn't think of or disagrees with them are attributed to him, with 'him, his, he'.


	24. Anders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Finished reediting the whole story on Jan 2nd, 2017. 
> 
> And we've reached the end of the story! So in honor of reaching said end, I've finally fixed the title. Cheers! If you're going to use a quote as a title, why not get it grammatically correct! Yay! Sorry for the really long AN, it was necessary.
> 
> As always, I need to add a 'Seriously though...' So. Seriously though, I want to thank you all so much for sticking with me through this. Your comments, kudos, bookmarks and hits all inspired me to write, and get it out on time, and lifted my spirits when I wasn't satisfied with it. You guys are just so freaking fantastic. Thank you.
> 
> But this is not the end! And I can actually guarantee it here, 'cause there's a few other things I want to put in that didn't make it into this story. If there are people who want to see said plot bunnies run, I've finally put this thing into a series, so you can subscribe to that and make sure you don't miss anything. That being said, I'm going to be really busy for the next few weeks, and it'll probably be at least a month before I have time to write, edit, and commit to posting anything more. But hey, I'm still always open for taking ideas. being vague, the ideas right now are fluff, evil people, helping healing some old hurts, potentially horrible decisions, and one last bit I'm not really sure how to put anywhere. 
> 
> Once again because I cannot possibly say it enough, thank you to everyone who read this one shot that was only going to be ten thousand words, then fifty, then seventy five, then finally ended at almost a hundred thousand. Woah, was that a bumpy ride. But you stayed with me, and I was almost really good at keeping my posting date, and I love you guys so much! Thank you!
> 
> -Sharkseye

Since meeting Fenris, and honestly, probably even before that, Anders had had a lot of issues with his sleep, and how rested he felt waking up from it.  Sometimes he barely managed to go throughout the day, sometimes things were a little, a lot easier.  Being the single—though not so single now—healer of Darktown tended to do that to a person, not even mentioning the spirit of Justice hanging around the back of his head.  Still, the morning, or afternoon, maybe evening—he couldn’t tell, there were no windows in his room—after healing Fenris of the blood magic that had plagued his brands, Anders was taught the valuable lesson that he’d been completely spoiled, and took back half the things he’d said to Justice about humans not functioning well on so little sleep.  Because all the mornings he’d dragged himself out of bed or off the floor before this?  They didn’t even come close.  Anders felt _horrible._ Exhausted, feeble, dead tired, on the verge of collapse.  If it was a word or couple of them related to how someone felt after not getting enough sleep, it described him. 

 

Dried drool stuck his cheek to the pillow beneath it, and his body and magic _ached_ like nothing else had before.  Well, maybe not _nothing_ else, but point being, Anders hurt.   His limbs felt like wet noodles, his body didn’t want to listen to his commands, and he nearly smacked himself in the face trying to rub at his eyes, letting out an unhappy groan at the unpleasantness.  The answering mumble startled him. 

 

Wrenching his eyes open and blinking a few times before settling on squinting, Anders lifted himself up on his arm high enough that he could see over the edge of his bed and stare at the warrior within. 

 

For all that Anders felt horrible, Fenris looked- Well, actually, a lot better.  A whole heck of a lot better.  How was that fair?  The warrior was obviously deeply asleep still, laid out on his side with one arm thrown out towards Anders, the other covering his face.  The gentle rise and fall of the blankets was even and slow in his rest, giving truth to a calmness Anders envied, though acknowledged that Fenris definitely deserved.  The healer might’ve actually been a little offended at how well he looked, if not for the simple fact that he also appeared to be recovering.  In an unusual way, true, given that having blood magic inside lyrium lines an evil magister had made brands of wasn’t exactly _usual_ , but he still looked a lot better than Anders had thought he would.  A very good thing, though the healer would definitely still keep the other on bedrest for an acceptable amount of time before letting him cavort around the place.  The last thing they needed was Fenris outside of the clinic and finding out that there’d been some nasty surprise they’d missed in the lyrium, ending up helpless among people who wouldn’t hesitate to sell out their own mother for a coin. 

 

Anders opened his mouth to softly call out Fenris’ name, but stopped just in time.  He had nothing to give the other when he woke.  Food, and water, the healer thought, casting his eyes towards the kitchen, Fenris would need food and water.  There was no reason to drag him from a peaceful rest if he wasn’t going to actually have anything for him. 

 

Nevertheless, even with the determination to tend to Fenris lighting itself in Anders’ brain, it took Justice’s help for him to actually get up and moving, stalling and leaning on the doorway for a few full minutes before convincing himself to go further.  Finally though he did make it to the kitchen, sluggishly throwing together a healthy if haphazard breakfast from the food people had left behind. 

 

A great portion of his patients had decided—whether because they’d been the recipient of or seen Anders giving away his food—that that was more helpful than coins they didn’t have, and the healer was very grateful for it.  He didn’t know—okay, he did, but that was in the past—why he’d been so averse to putting up a donation box.  Some people down on their luck hated taking things for free, even if it was something necessary for life.  The donation box gave them a way to pay back the imagined debts, and Anders—who’d traveled with the Warden through the Deep Roads, through Blackmarsh, and even directly into the reach of a broodmother—knew all about how strongly perceived debts to someone’s kindness could ensnare a person. 

 

’ ** _You do not eat them like that.  Cease.’_**   Justice cut through the haze of sleep, and Anders yanked his hand back, glaring down at the sliced tomato he’d started spreading crushed berries on rather than the bread. 

 

 _’Thanks for the save.  Justice, I’m_ exhausted _.’_ He sighed, scraping up as much as he could of the berries that had made it onto the vegetable and then giving up and pulling the bread closer.  Tomatoes were a bit of a delicacy this far into Darktown

 

Justice didn’t even bother addressing that with a reply, sending back a note of obviousness, and Anders smiled softly, picking up the tray with one hand and rubbing at his eyes again with the other.  The other quickly went down again to steady the wobbling tray, and Anders scowled at his misbehaving limbs. 

 

With a sigh, he turned to his bedroom, approaching Fenris without attempting to muffle his motions.  Past experience said that was a very dumb thing to do around warriors sleeping on edge, and despite how peaceful Fenris had looked, Anders was sure he would be the definition of ‘on edge’ when he woke.

 

“Fenris?”  He asked when close enough to touch the other, lightly brushing over the warrior’s exposed shoulder.  Only after did he think that that might not’ve been a good idea, and he quickly placed the tray on the crate serving as an end table.  If Fenris sprung at him…

 

Green gold eyes jumped open, and the warrior blinked a couple times before turning to stare up at Anders.  “Ande-”

 

Fenris cut himself off, freezing as he’d scrambled to sit up and Anders stiffened, leaning forward in concern. 

 

“Are you okay?  Is something wrong?  Are your brands…”  He trailed off.  The look Fenris was currently giving his right arm was _not_ one of pain.  Awe, maybe? 

 

“It doesn’t hurt.”

 

Had Anders not already been used to blocking out the sounds of Darktown around him, he would’ve missed the warrior’s quiet words, breathed so lowly it was like he thought they might shatter and turn out to be false if he used too much emphasis.  An elegantly dark finger ran down one of the lines, starting off gentle and then pressing deeper and deeper as if Fenris was trying to bruise himself.  It was an exercise in allowing independence, not reaching out and stopping the warrior from doing himself harm, but Anders didn’t think that was what was meant anyways.  If he had, the healers would have had no such qualms in stopping him. 

 

“It doesn’t hurt.”  Fenris repeated in a voice just as small, then all at once rose up like a wave, scrambling to stand from the bed, eyes searching frantically over the brands exposed on his body.

 

“Woah!” Anders fluttered his hands, torn between restraining the warrior or helping him get upright.

 

The decision was made for him when Fenris stumbled, and Anders couldn’t have stopped himself from catching the other if he’d tried.  Helping him into a standing position, he made to quickly pull away when he noticed the warriors gaze transfer to where he’d unwittingly grasped one of the lines, going still.  Fenris’ hand caught his before it could fully leave the skin. 

 

“Fenris?”  He asked tentatively when the warrior gave no sign of communicating anything further, merely manipulating Anders’ fingers into running back and forth over the lines on his bicep.  Not that Anders took issue, he’d happily run his hands all over the warrior’s body, especially his perfectly formed muscles, it was just he was a little wary concerning the circumstances.

 

’ ** _Is it not likely that Fenris feels the difference now that the blood magic is gone?  That is something you should’ve thought of.’_**   Justice pushed forward, becoming more of a presence behind Anders’ eyes than usual.  The spirit too wanted to watch the warrior’s strange behavior, though he could tell it was for different reasons. 

 

‘ _Right, and if I wasn’t so tired I probably could’ve come up with that on my own.’_ Anders admitted in somewhat of a daze, flicking his eyes up to search Fenris’ face.  ’ _But I am, so you’re going to have to help me out here a little longer.  Pretend I’m a child or something.’_

 

“It’s gone, the pain, the blood magic is gone.  _Thank you._ ” Eyes flickered up to meet Anders’ own and he smiled back, opening his mouth to deflect the gratitude, or accept it, or _something_ , but then Fenris was moving again, throwing himself against the healer and crushing him in his grip.

 

Anders had just barely brought his hands up to hold Fenris back before the warrior was pulling away again.  Making a small noise of unhappiness, Anders didn’t have time to complain—though he probably would’ve kept it between himself and Justice—when Fenris was _kissing_ him, shoving their lips together with a lack of elegance so out of place for the graceful warrior.  A question sparked, and fled together with Justice as Anders gave himself fully into the kiss, everything other than Fenris turning bland and unimportant. 

 

The warrior was fierce in what was almost an attack, yet even so, swiping his tongue across Fenris’ slightly chapped lips had them both freezing.  There was a split second in which Anders though he’d gone too far, but then Fenris was parting them and letting the healer in, reaching up to curl slender fingers into loose hair.  Despite the whirlwind that his mind had so swiftly become even with Justice’s presence muted, Anders somehow restrained himself from pushing more, limiting the passion he wanted to throw at Fenris to minute and delighted tastes of the other’s mouth.  Brushing their tongues together without truly fighting, and then letting out a cut-off sound of surprise as the warrior gripped his hair harder, sparks of pain over his scalp speaking of some strands tearing out.  But then Fenris’ tongue was in _his_ mouth, and it didn’t matter one bit. 

 

Having fought for freedom all his life, Anders had no idea where his love for a stronger partner had come from, but _sweet blight_ was Fenris ever fitting the mold.  The way he seemed to loom over Anders, despite actually being slightly shorter, the way he smelled, like he’d just come from a battlefield and not sleep after an intense magical healing, the way he took charge even though it was clear from the beginning he’d no idea what he was doing.  It was _perfect_.

 

Too soon Fenris pulled away for good, and Anders was left gaping, sucking in air like he’d run to Hightown and back.  Clear, joy filled eyes met his own, and Fenris’ smile was as sharp as it was broad, his full focus so heavy the healer felt he could drown in it. 

 

“ _Thank you_ ” Fenris gasped, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together and squeezing his eyes shut.  “ _Thank you.”_

 

Then he was detaching himself fully from the healer, taking a shaky step back and plopping down on the bed, hands coming up to hide his face.  His shoulders shook now and again as if holding back tears of relief. 

 

Taking a minute to gasp and try and redirect the blood that had rushed downwards as if such a thing was possible by shear force of will, Anders stared at the warrior, and then the wall behind him.  That had been _fantastic,_ and holy _fuck_ was he ever looking forward to going further with Fenris.  It would, it would be, _amazing._  

 

 ** _”Why does he hide now?”_** Justice peaked out like he’d felt the lack of physical contact and was a timid cat trying to see if the way was safe.  At observing Fenris hiding on the bed, satisfaction rolled in and Anders was unpleasantly reminded that the spirit did not approve.

 

It didn’t matter. 

 

’ _I imagine he’s overwhelmed, something I think we’re both rather familiar with.’_ Anders shot back, irritated at the break in his glow.  Aloud, he added, “Fenris?  That was bloody amazing, you’re-” At the warrior’s non-reaction he abruptly changed his mind, and the question he’d been about to ask.  “Do you want me to stay, or do you need some time to yourself?” 

 

For a few breaths it looked like the words still hadn’t reached Fenris, but then he twitched and looked up, staring at Anders with slightly reddened eyes.  Eyes that cast back down as his hand fell from his face, fidgeting and playing with his fingers.  The warrior licked his subtly swollen lips and Anders felt a rush of heat go through him at the idea that he might be tasting _Anders_ , just as the healer could still taste him.  Morning breath, which wasn’t too pleasant, but the remains of the pain potions, -lyrium, and _Fenris_ too.  Still Fenris, still perfect.

 

“I think, I’d like you to stay,” 

 

The request may have been haulting, but Anders responding nod wasn’t, immediate as he straightened, licking his own lips in a mirror of the warrior’s own motion.  “Alright, of course.”  He really wanted to mention the kiss, but thought he might wait for Fenris to bring it up first.  “And I brought food.  After the amount of potions you took last night, you really should eat.”

 

Fenris glanced over as if just noticing the food now, but he narrowed his eyes at Anders’ last sentence.  Again moments passed before he translated his thoughts to spoken words.  “You should eat too.  I, cannot recall all that happened during the healing, but I’ve seen mages overdose on lyrium, and you took far too much.”

 

Curious, but unwilling to ask for clarification, Anders awkwardly shrugged.  “Well, Justice helps with that.  And the whole Grey Warden thing helps too.  Stronger resistances to everything.  You’ve no idea how much it takes for me to get drunk.  Or at least, before Justice, they don’t allow it.” He coughed as the immediate disapproval of such mind altering substances rose.  _Spirits_.  Oghren used to tease Justice about that. Still, now was probably not the best time to remind Fenris of his passenger. 

 

Fenris smiled waveringly, like he didn’t know whether to try and hide his pleasure from a mage who could use it against him, or to give in, as he’d already thrown away all propriety with the kiss.  At least that might’ve been the conundrum he was facing, but in the end Anders reached no conclusion as the warrior turned and grabbed a piece of jam covered bread to munch on, dismissing it all.  Settling down to the idea himself, Anders let his legs give out, slumping to the floor with an exaggerated _oomph_.  Fenris looked slightly taken aback, and pushed himself to the side, very obviously offering to let the healer sit on the bed too.  With a small grin—and a metric ton of willpower—he pushed himself up and joined him. 

 

A nudge and gesture to the food had Anders exerting more willpower, and he grabbed a couple ripped up pieces of kale.  A few cheese slices inserted between the leaves and he was eating it like a miniature, poorly put together sandwich.  It was much better when the whole thing was steamed, melted, and eaten with a fork, but he had no desire to expend the effort to have it that way. 

 

The silence that fell was a comfortable one, and Anders swayed slightly in place until Fenris shifted closer, offering up a shoulder and leaning against him in turn.  Warmth rushed through him at the contact, and he shoved more kale in his mouth so he didn’t try and occupy it with other things.  Who knew what he’d come up with as a good idea when this over-tired.  His fifth escape attempt had been the result of two nights without sleep.  It had encompassed, coincidentally, some of what were probably the best nights of rest he’d ever had.  Until that bloody Templar’d woken him up with a smite. 

 

Still, all memories aside, with the blood magic gone and the way Fenris had reacted to Anders moments before, the healer was feeling a lot more optimistic about the future.  Far more positive than he had been when Fenris was acting like a jailor, or having him explain again and again that he was trustworthy without caving and blurting out that in the end, there was really nothing he could say to have the warrior completely convinced, and he’d have to make that decision himself.  Far more positive than he had been in a long time. 

 

Justice murmured discontentedly in the background, but Anders ignored the feelings, deciding that after a healing like that, he deserved a rest.  Especially one that included the gorgeous warrior next to him. 

 

“Anders?”  The warrior in question asked, tilting his head to look at the healer with a crooked smile.

 

Brightening—and refusing to admit that smile had gotten any wider at being addressed by the object of his probably way too strong affections—Anders raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

 

Was it his imagination, or did Fenris look happier watching him too?  The warrior did indeed look more content than he’d ever seen him, though that could be solely related to the blood magic.  Anders had no qualms admitting that if _he’d_ had blood magic woven into him by a sadistic blood mage, he’d been pretty darn happy to have it gone too.  Really happy. 

 

Things could go really wrong from here, but Anders had the feeling that they wouldn’t, or at least not for a long time.  He knew he’d fight for them, and he thought Fenris would too.  Let the slavers and Templars come, they’d fight them all.  Still, this moment, the aftermath of freeing such a wonderful person of bonds he’d never deserved, and sitting next to him, in peace and shared joy, was something he knew he’d treasure forever. 

 

The smirk that Anders really wanted to press his lips against widened, and Fenris’ eyes sparkled with amusement. 

 

“Why are there mangled berries on the tomatoes?”

 


End file.
